saintrvckwell

[saintrvckwell]

hi guys! would anyone be interested in dio morrissey one shots? cause, i got lil obsession going on atm

[saintrvckwell]

okay just saw episode 6 and not only i bawled and has been depressed ever since, i'm curious to know if there are still people interested in the joel platonic fics?

[saintrvckwell]

well hello there, i hope you guys are doing okay. i released joel miller platonic one shot! it's kind of chaotic, messy but the angst slaps let me tell you that. enjoy!

[saintrvckwell]

The fair and the brave and the good must die (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!reader

summary: it felt frightening when the world gave you a second chance. but how many chances could you give joel, before it was too late?

warnings: angst at times (what a shocker with me), joel sees his daughter in reader, they travel to find her family but instead, find it in each other (sappy at times, lol almost never), reader is somewhere in her mid-teens, appearance not really specified, the father-daughter dynamic hitting as per usual, joel sabotaging himself 24/7

wordcount: 7.1k

a/n: well look at that, me releasing two pieces in one year, wow. well anyway, i got this idea last year, wrote it last year and then rewrote the ending this year. it's very much chaotic but thought the idea was cool. with the new season around, figured we need some joel x platonic!reader. well lmk what u guys think! hope u like it, it's a mess

A few months ago, if you were to describe what kind of man Joel Miller was, there probably would not be enough curse words to spit out. A few months ago, if you were to choose between saving him and saving yourself, you would probably be the one responsible for his demise. A few months ago, Joel's presence in your life was a mere part of the deal and nothing more, or less. A few months ago, you would not allow his existence carry that much importance in your life.

But now, no question needed to be asked. No hesitation on your side, no second thoughts. Just a gun in your hand, finger on the trigger, eye focused on the one who would stand in between. Because for Joel, you would not question anything. For Joel, you were prepared to walk to the edge of the universe and back. For Joel, you would lose yourself.

Not him, never.

You walk through half of the continent with someone, expecting to keep to yourself. The final destination hanging in your mind like a warning. You are not here to make friends, you are not here to share wholehearted life stories around the fire. The only reason your steps kept following Joel's, was his lead. Lead towards someone you have been searching for ever since you escaped the FEDRA school. With stolen ration cards in your back pocket and shiv attached to your belt. In the dark of the night you ran through the Boston's quarantine zone, knowing exactly who you were looking for.

He was the best at this, you kept hearing. No one had the soldiers wrapped around their finger like him. Side to side, the word didn't change. If you wanted to find someone who decided to become unwanted, he was the right fit. You bet your everything on Joel Miller. He was your one-way ticket out of this shithole. Following the same tale you had been studying since your mother died. 

Whether there was some credibility to her words, you never found out. But she made a plan for you, from one connection to another, from person onto the next one. Until you found yourself standing by his door, knocking so persistently until he could no longer pretend he was not there.

Disgruntled and annoyed, he looked at you, your hair wet from the rain, muddy clothes. He was prepared to send you away, tell you to go back where you came from. He was no babysitter, no tour guide. 

But then, you pulled out the picture. Ripped in the middle, old polaroid picture taken by your mother, you presumed. And he wondered. If it were her, looking for him. If she were to survive, get lost in the escaping crowds. Would she be standing in your place, at someone else's house, with his picture?

The salvation was something he could not decline.

Not when you kept looking at him that way. The desperation hidden behind your determined stance. The little child in the eyes of someone who had to grew up before the world did it for them. You were too much of a painful reminder to shut the door in your place. Especially once he let you come inside and saw the scars on your neck, from pulling through all the wired fences around your school. Fresh, washed down with the rain, drips of blood on your collar. It was either him or some other smuggler. Who would use the desperate adolescent asking for help.

Taking more without giving anything in return.

No, Joel made the decision. Let you lay out on the table all of the leads you had gathered over the past few weeks, from the connections your mother had left you. Day and night, he planned, he searched. And before long, he knew exactly where your father happened to be. There was a warrant on his head, not so long ago. Nothing good came his name.

Except for you.

At dawn, three days later, you set off. You noticed, second before the door shut, that he had left a note on the table. For a moment, you wondered for whom it was written but before you found the answer, Joel was already nudging into your shoulder, urging you to move faster. You had one shot at sneaking out of the zone. And although Joel had become experienced traveler over the years, he did not take your inexperience into consideration.

And thus, how the trial started.

It appeared the second you and Joel set foot out of the quarantine zone; trouble seemed to follow you everywhere. Closed calls turned out to be a daily dish and ammunition rarity that you almost never stumbled upon, unlike the traps in each city you wandered in. Just two days in and Joel started to regret not thinking this through. 

No amount of ration cards was worth saving you from every trap you managed to step into, he thought. You were a loose cannon, catastrophes seemed to walk hand in hand with you.

"How was I supposed to know it's going to be a trap?" you mumbled, whilst trying to fix the cut on your left ankle.

Joel looked up from his backpack, where, just a second ago, was trying to find what was left of his first aid kid. If he knew you would be such liability, he would pack more. No, he would not have gone in the first place.

"Common sense?" he hissed, walking over to you. "Didn't they teach you that in school?"

"No, they just taught us how to hang smugglers on the streets," you replied.

The amount of sarcasm accompanying your cutthroat response kept making it harder for Joel to maintain his calm demeanour.

Without much thought, he threw the bandage away and got up. "Fix it, smartass. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Not wanting to poke to bear any more, you hurried up and managed to join Joel back on the street. With revolver in his right hand, he looked at you, disgruntled.

"Move, we gotta make it before sundown."

You didn't know at which particular comment or situation Joel started to withdraw. His patience seemed to be running out with each day he was forced to pull you out of the trap or save you from a close call you had caused. Every time, you would be sitting on the ground, fixing up, looking at a dead point, trying to get through his scolding. He would yell, throw hands in the air, taking out all of his anger. 

At a certain point, you weren't sure whether your behaviour was truly the reason, or his chance to get everything out of his system and blame it on your recklessness.

Neither did Joel know. 

There was something so triggering about seeing you so helpless. Seeing you get into numerous troubles that could have cost you your head. He had no emotional attachment to you whatsoever, you were a business part -- if a teenager setting off with smuggler could be even called something like that. But the look, the damned look in your eyes. Each time, with each moment, his paternal instincts awakened a little more. You were a walking reminder of what he had lost, what could have been.

He would be sitting by the window, late at night, keeping the watch, wondering. How easy it would have been to take his backpack, walk through the door and never look back. No note, nothing. Go back to what he had got used to -- the stillness of life in Boston. Where nothing would remind him, nothing would pull out those rotten roots. That settled somewhere in the pits of his mind, along with the shame. No one to force him to face his mistakes.

It was odd what power your presence had in Joel's life, despite knowing nothing about you. Perhaps, when you stick to someone, twenty-four hours a day, when someone else's life depends on your actions, the fine line becomes thinner. 

Until there's none.

In certain aspects, at certain points, he could no longer tell the difference between you and Sarah. The way you quickly came to enjoy making fun of him and testing his patience. The days you spent on foot, you kept irritating the living soul out of him. You found the string to play on and there was no reason to stop. You hated the silence, that he was subtly trying to enforce.

You noticed pretty quickly the effect your comments could have on him. And, of course, you found amusement in it. The days on the road were long, especially without a vehicle so you were looking for anything that would distract the anxious thoughts in your mind. 

The longer you were gone, the more second thoughts arrived.  

You had never met your father yet here you were, travelling across the infested country to see a man who, perhaps, was not even interested in acknowledging your presence.

Why did he leave your mother? Why did he leave Boston? Did he know about you and if so, what did it say about him?

And why would your mother send you to look for someone who might not even be aware of your existence?

The answer was simple, at least according to your conclusion.

You had no one.

Your mother was the last person you had and when she died, you found yourself living in a tiny, three-bedroom dorm room at the military preparatory school. And every night, after the curfew, you kept on reading her notes. The letter she had left you. Place like that did not leave enough space to carry a hope, yet you managed to squeeze it in. But were her last words enough of a reason for you to risk your own life? Perhaps, you were about to find out.

Although, probably not from Joel.

He was not the most talkative individual. After all, his only job was to lead you to your father, collect the rest of the ration cards and head back. This was strictly a business deal, which he kept reminding himself, each time he caught glimpse of you. Looking at you made him wonder -- about you, your life. Where your parents had been. He knew that now, in the world, there were far too many children like you, wandering alone. 

Even in the Boston QZ, there would not be a day that Joel would not run into a child, sitting on the pavement, counting their last ration cards. He usually paid no mind to it, fed with false belief that he was not interested to care in the first place.

But then, there were you. And that hopeful spark you had every time you looked at him. He was there to protect you, despite the reasons. So, naturally, after years of almost forgetting how it had felt, you found comfort in Joel's presence. He could have been mean and spiteful. And you could send him to the deepest pits of hell, screaming your lungs out.

And yet, you would not turn back.

You could have screaming matches all the way through abandoned suburbs, you could slam the door in his face and ask him to go fuck himself for being such an asshole to you.

Despite the inner voice telling him to leave, he would sit down on the stairs and wait. Until an hour later, when your anger boiled down, you would open the door and go back on the road. And he would follow. And that conversation would never be brought up again.

That was the cycle.

Through the cities, through the suburbs, through the meadows, through the highways.

There were times, where Joel's patience ran over the edge, and he ended up going further than he had initially intended. Only then his falsely justified arguments came to slap him in the face. When his eyes would lock with yours and he could see how determined you were to keep your tears back. 

"You are being an asshole," you whispered, grabbing your backpack from the floor, not giving your impulsive ideas second thoughts.

Joel sighed, rubbing his chin, before he looked your way. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," you shrugged your shoulders, opening the doors. "Anywhere but here."

He chuckled, crossing his hands over his chest. "Good luck with that."

Your eyes fell on the cracked floor, as you let out a deep exhale. "You really are an asshole," you whispered. "Fucking asshole."

Trying so hard to keep it together, not giving him the pleasure of winning over you, you stood by the door, watching the raindrops outrunning each other. It was already dark out there, the storm was settling in the skies, as quickly as one falls asleep, and you had no idea where to go. And when you thought about it, it was probably better to draw your guns now, as opposed to coming back here, hours later, soaked and cold. Serving the win on a silver platter.

Joel waited, convinced you would not leave. He was the compass holding this plan together and besides, as he knew, you had nowhere else to go. Your father was your only remaining connection. Joel was aware of the position he found himself in. An argument he already knew was a win. But in his preoccupied mind, there was no lust for such thing.

Perhaps, not now. Not when he noticed how swiftly you wiped away the tears with your sleeves. Of course, it was not the first time that Joel had become the reason of your momentary sadness. His words managed to hit your sore spots one too many times. 

Though, why now? Why would the guilt float above the surface of his false beliefs, waving the red flag? Why now would the regrets start to squash his entire, washed-out being?

He would ask, despite already having the answers.

There was something about watching you sit there, on the floor, leaning against the door. The shouting, the threats of leaving. It was as though he was back in Texas, twenty years ago, sitting in the kitchen and listening to Sarah complaining about short curfew. Begging Joel to let her go out with friends, stay a little longer. And he would refuse, being as stubborn as he is. Inheriting those qualities, she would insist on her wish. Until it ended up in a scream match and she would threaten to go anyways, with or without his approval.

Then both sides ended up defeated. Sarah, sitting in her bedroom, listening to the regrets setting down in her mind. And Joel, sitting by the kitchen table, cursing himself for being too harsh. He was a man of few words, always has been, when it came to expressing his feelings out into the world. So instead of struggling to find the right ones, he would take her favourite DVD of Curtis and Vipper and knock three times on her bedroom door.

She would know exactly what he meant.

But you were not Sarah, you were not Joel's daughter. There was no relation, other than the business one.

Which, in the end, did not even matter anymore.

"You should have said no," you whispered into the rain.

The reality pulled Joel out of his thoughts.

He frowned, puzzled over your statement.

"You should have just said no," you mumbled, turning around.

He stood still.

"I should have talked you out of it," you whispered. "If I knew how much you will hate me, I would never knock on your door."

And suddenly, everything he had convinced himself with, came undone.

You found all the sore spots, striking into the pits of their existence. Until the shadow of man, he once used to be, stood right behind you, looking into his eyes. What he thought had died that night with her, was standing in one piece. He had nowhere to run, no beliefs to feed himself with, only the truth. Now it was up to him whether he was going to face it.

You wanted him to say something, more than anything. Even if he should just scream at your existence, damning you to hell. Everything would have been better than him, surrendering to his shame. The anger in you was starting to boil. You loathed Joel -- simply for the fact of what his role now meant in your life. Joel was your source of safety, despite the arguments, the curse words headed into his direction. And the only thing you wanted was to know whether there was at least a part of him that would sympathise.

You knew giving your hopes into someone like Joel was a risk with little to no chance of winning. Yet, you allowed yourself to hope, as you looked at him, awaiting.

You should have known how that would end.

Putting a faith in a man who’s past has been coming to haunt him every night for the last twenty years was perhaps as reckless, as running towards a clicker, with a friendly handshake. It would cost you an arm and a leg, you knew it. Of course, you knew it. 

But the hope, rotten to the core. The sweet-talking hope. 

Which he was well aware of, seeing it in your desperate eyes. The guilt was about to swallow him all. What Joel wanted and what he allowed himself to want were two different categories. And what frightened him the most, was the fact that you were in both. 

Despite his best of efforts to bury it. No matter what he tried, the truth could not be undone or destroyed. Even though his guilt kept feeding him with the false claims. Convincing him that after betraying her, he was no longer worthy of that title. When in reality, he would never become someone else. It was who he had always been. 

Didn't matter where would he run, what amount of liquid courage his organs would absorb to numb the pain, it would always be there. Waiting for him, waking up from a hangover. Joel spent twenty years searching for salvation in the wrong places, in the hands of wrong people. 

And there he was, scarred, old and defeated. 

You were his second chance. 

"Stop confusing me with the man you are looking for." 

But the anger, oh the anger. And the frustration he fought with. The what ifs, the possible scenarios recreating his life-long failure that haunted him relentlessly. It could go wrong, he thought. He could not even count the exact number; it was too many of them. 

So, he settled with the thought of doing what was best for both of you. But selfishly, as he was well aware, he welcomed the pain with open door and a handshake. Whilst you were left in the rain, watching it close. 

It would have been too dangerous to act differently, he continued to sweet-talk himself with lies as the dawn fell upon his feet. The truth kept on eating him alive, through the roads and through the woods. Flesh by flesh, until there was nothing left. Joel stood against his own mind, his own beliefs. 

How long could he keep on denying them? 

You wondered about it, even though you forbid yourself from doing so, when you stood in the door the following morning, eyes swollen from how you quietly cried yourself to sleep. The consequences of Joel's previous actions were falling down on you. You avoided him like plague, waking up before sunrise and hunting in the nearby woods before the two of you set off. 

He did not comment on your unannounced morning trip but with all honesty, there was not much to say anyway. One thing that Joel knew, which you were grateful for, although you would never admit it out loud, was to keep quiet when it was needed. 

Unfortunately, this habit of his showed up even when it wasn't required. 

The distance he created between the two of you could not be erased. So, for your own sake, you followed his lead. There were no more jokes, no more comments about Joel's age being close to dinosaurs. Because there was nothing left to say or do. 

And as the days continued, your guilt and regret, naturally, turned into anger. 

Anger towards Joel. 

The more you thought about it, the more resentful you had grown to be. You gave him a chance; you gave him a piece of something only your mother has been worthy of. Something you had once buried but for Joel, you would search for it through the deepest pits of your soul. 

You wanted to feel safe, more than anything else in this world. And there he was. When you looked at the picture of your father, then back at Joel, you knew which one was the option you would choose. 

But what would that be good for, when Joel did not choose you?

As hurtful as it might have been to admit it. 

It was pointless, stupid, you kept telling yourself. Joel's reasoning for this voyage was simple, different from yours. And it would always be different from yours. 

That's how it started to bubble up inside of you. Through days, through nights. It would take one look at him for you to clench your fists and curse yourself for ever being this naive. At a certain point, there was no reason for you to hide it. 

And Joel knew it. He knew how you felt when you yelled at him, spilled out that he should not care whether you had eaten or not, whether you had got enough sleep or not. You would let it all out, frustrated and disappointed. 

He would never say anything, just let you get it out of your system. And once you were done, he would hand you the last bits of jerky from his backpack because he was right -- you did not eat that day. But he would not once try to get back at you.

Perhaps, when he stood against you, watching your eyebrows dance up and down, your hands gesticulating in the air, hearing each word sounding faster and angrier than the one before, Joel had realised he now stood in your position. 

There it was. 

The metaphorical blink, perhaps? 

That found Joel standing above the map, marked with your estranged father's supposed location. 

If you kept heading east, you would arrive to his quarantine zone by next week, according to his counting. A week. 

Seven days. 

There was an odd feeling, growing inside his chest. The symptoms of guilt had arrived into their places, occupying his indecisive existence. The time was slipping through his fingers and selfishly, Joel did not anticipate the meeting that was yet to happen. Despite not doing anything to stop it. 

Your father was no exemplary man, quite the opposite. He made trouble wherever he went, so it was not that shocking when one day, Joel saw a soldier putting up a warrant flyer with your father's face. 

He was supposed to be hanged, the day he vanished from the Boston quarantine zone. FEDRA was searching through every place that could carry his trace, but nothing. A few months later, via radio tower, Joel heard his name again. 

With his connections around the zone, it was not too difficult for Joel to find his current supposed whereabouts. Still, as the days on the road went by, he started to have less and less sympathy for finding someone like him. If there ever was some. 

For personal reasons, of course. Being too attached and too subjective, he could not see past his selfish mind, despite doing everything in his power to have you run to your father with open arms. 

He could only blame himself for not seeing how lost you were. For not seeing through the opportunities falling upon his feet. Especially when they started to run out. 

"How long, Joel?"

Your voice pulled Joel out of his frustrated thoughts as he looked back at you, sitting by the fireplace. He realized he has been standing above the table the whole time, gripping the pencil. 

He has been still all evening, which you tried your best to not care about. Spent almost two hours drawing things on the map, running around the house, looking for more pencils. For a moment, you thought he was going insane. 

Would not be so shocking. 

You attempted to pay no mind to it, mostly browsing through the farmhouse, looking for something to kill your time with. The books were ripped apart, rooms raided, so eventually, you ended up sitting by the fireplace to warm yourself up. 

While you waited for the answer that did not seem to be coming. 

"Week or more," he replied, after another minute. "Though we will be lucky if he's still there by the time we arrive," he mumbled, packing up the map. 

The tone of his voice raised your eyebrows. You could have let it go. 

But weather got you both stuck here in the first place, you might as well square up. 

„Well, you won't be there to see it," you whispered. 

He looked at you, confused over such statement. 

"What?" you got up, "Wasn't your whole plan to drop me by the gate like some baggage? Suppose that was the only thing I ever was for you.“

There was no reason to suppress your frustrated thoughts inside. At such point, there was nothing to lose, not on your side. Miles away from Boston, in the middle of nowhere, your hands were empty. Nothing to treasure, nothing to hold. 

Nothing to hope for, anymore. 

The spark in your eyes that once scared the living soul of Joel was fading away. Perhaps, the reality of that became much more frightening for him. 

"You seriously don't have anything to say to me?" 

The desperate tone of your voice, breaking at the end, frustrated you. 

Not more than Joel's nonexistent stance, though. That was still at the top of your list. 

Just two feet away from you, halfway in the shadow of the night, he stood there defenceless.  

"Seriously, Joel?"

But then, for reasons unknown to your being, the cycle had fallen apart. 

"What the hell do you want from me?" his voice echoed around the living room. "We had a deal. That did not include reading you a goddamn bedtime story and tucking you in." 

Joel himself did not know why he was so harsh. The defence mechanism was running on its own system, leaving him out of the door. 

You could not help but chuckle over his angry statement. 

If he was going to cut deep, so were you. 

"Don't flatter yourself," you whispered, stepping closer. "I don't even think someone like you could ever be capable of that. You will always be too selfish for that." 

He knew he had it coming, of course he knew. Just, perhaps, did not realize how severely he would lose this war. How severely would the last strike hurt. 

Until those words left your mouth. Only then the dust settled as the room had fallen into a deadly silence, with Joel's dignity vanishing into the fireplace, like a lonesome soldier surrendering. 

There was no desire to look into your eyes. On Joel's side, there was no anger left; he waisted it all out. Now, the guilt had won the war, creeping through the pits of his mind, sitting on his shoulder, trying to pull down the rest of his tired, scattered being. 

The shame has been weighing on his shoulders for the past twenty years. Its existence could never be denied nor annihilated. He knew, somewhere in his heart, she would never want him to wander through life like this, of course. But choosing to let go was a price he was too afraid to pay. 

When in his mind, he was not allowed. To have life she could have had. It would have been a betrayal, he thought. To leave it all behind, to prove to you that there once had been and always will be part of him that would do anything for his child. 

Joel was aware of the amount of childish naivety you had within yourself when you knocked on his door. The dedication to see through the plan your mother had prepared for you, Joel knew the final moment would never live up to the expectations you had fostered in your mind. The salvation you had been waiting for. 

And there, it ached. The idea of having you reach the final destination, only for the spark of light in your eyes to die once and for all. To see the disappointment settle in your mind for the rest of the days. 

Same as the one you had; every time Joel let you down. 

By the time the truth had dawned on him, you were already sitting on porch, right by the stairs, wiping away the rest of the tears you had waisted on him. If it were not for the lack of weapons and dark night, you would have been gone. 

But where to road would lead, suddenly remained unknown. In the middle of nowhere, stuck by an old farmhouse, you wished to retrace your steps. Stay in Boston, pull through the military school, become another soldier without a soul and eventually, walk into death with open arms. 

What else would the world give you anyways. When what you had yearned for, has been declined. 

By Joel, standing still in the living room, analysing the spot you occupied just a few minutes ago. He looked around, seeing the glimpses of life this place had before outbreak. The last bits of wallpaper, the broken framed photographs on the credence. He used to wonder what it would have been like to set up a little sheep farm, somewhere outside the Austin, just him and Sarah. 

The two of them running the place, not needing anything or anybody else. Occasionally, they would spare a room for Tommy, force him to help out with the livestock, to repay Joel for bailing him out of the jail, again. It sounded almost idyllic; what could have been and never was. 

Joel knew that he was not the only father losing part of himself on the night of the outbreak. Yet, he found no comfort in this fact. If anything, it added another layer of guilt upon his shoulders. He thought, there was no father who had failed as miserably as him. In his eyes, there was no father guiltier than him. 

What he had buried under glasses of moonshine and traded pills, you ripped out. Pulled it on the surface and close the door on your way out. 

After everything that happened, all through the woods, all through the meadows, there was one, last question Joel had to face. 

Was surrendering to his shame worth losing, perhaps, the very last chance of making things right? 

Of honouring what he once had, instead of grieving what he once lost. 

Of being the one for whom you had knocked on his door in the first place. 

Despite his actions, Joel was not an idiot. He was well aware that the chances and opportunities you had given to him would run their course soon. And then, then -- he will be left alone, awaiting the arrival of his remorse. Why couldn't he try, you wondered by the moon. 

You sat there, eyes on the skies. 

The thought of your mother danced in your tangled mind. Of the wish she had put together for you. Back in Boston, you would do anything to fulfill it -- after all, that is how you found Joel. 

But now, there was no desire to continue. 

Of course, there was the urge to know your father. The other half of you. But would he do what you had done? Would be travel across the states, just for you?

Even if he would, you thought, he could never live up to Joel. 

Whose steps pulled you out of your thoughts, as you heard him closing the door. 

Not so long after, he found himself sitting on the opposite side of the stairs -- doing so, when he realised how persistently you tried to maintain your distance. He would not blame you, only the numerous times he had managed to disappoint you. 

There was no desire to look at him. Part of you wished for him to never speak, to collect the little he travelled with and set off, for good. Part of you wanted to curse him out. 

But the other part, oh the other part. 

That damned part. 

The questions that came along, the thoughts. 

The fear. 

That joined you on the stairs, in the dark of the night. 

The fear you caught in Joel's eyes. Clear as the skies above you. 

There was one last battle remaining, for Joel. 

The broken watch sitting on his wrist caught Joel's attention. The crack was bigger than Joel had remembered. Surely, as the years went by, as the roads came along, some of the glass pieces fell out. But the hands stayed the same. The time forever more imprinted in his scarred mind.

Long ago, he convinced himself his clock would never resume, never having a reason to do so, without her. 

But, perhaps, the reason was sitting right next to him. 

"I know you think I am an asshole," he whispered into the night. 

Joel had to think. It has been a while since he led a conversation with an adolescent -- a conversation, not a screaming match. Surely, he had his fair share of arguments with Sarah. But the differences were incomparable. 

Unlike her, you grew up in the world where kindness came with a price ticket and dignity as an exception not many accomplished to hold onto. You had no recollection of what it meant to have a home. 

Or perhaps?

"That is an understatement," you mumbled. "It is not fair, you know?"

Joel's gaze met with yours. The sadness danced in your eyes. 

"It's not fair how hardly I tried to hate you, Joel, but failed miserably, whilst you succeeded for both of us," you uttered, not letting go of his sight. "You have to hate me, you made it so obvious. But, I  still wonder. Why walk through the woods, through the roads, through the cities with someone whose presence holds no meaning in your life?"

You got him, time and time again. How far was he willing to test your abilities to forgive him? Until there was none?

"Did you walk all the way because of the pity you had stored for me? If your guilty conscience needs a verbal order, then you are free to go," you mumbled. 

The silence entered the empty sphere. Your trembling voice went quiet, as the sleeves of your jacket wiped away the rest of the tears, strolling down your red cheeks. The anguish seemed to never end. 

"Joel, leave," you whispered, not daring to meet his gaze in such condition. "Pack your shit and just leave."

"Actually," he spoke, as though ignoring your disheveled state of mind. "Now, that the deal is off, I think I might stay for a while.“

For a short moment, you could not say for sure whether was mocking your statement or happened to be deadly serious about staying in this half-destroyed house. The jury was out. 

You dared to look up -- solely to convince yourself that there would be a vicious smirk on Joel's face, hitting the final nail in the coffin of hope you had left for him. 

There was no such thing, other than him, looking around. 

"Joel," you whispered, "Leave."

"Some of the walls are busted, the roof is leaking but it ain't nothing I could not fix," he mumbled, not paying a single ounce of attention to you.

You thought you might as well go insane. 

"Joel, I swear to fucking god, leave!" the frustration was pouring out. The hands were thrown in the air, the redness in your cheeks filled your whole face, as your voice rose because of Joel. "Seriously, you treat me like some fucking burden the whole time, but now, you have a what, a change of heart?"

He shrugged his shoulders, remaining calm. "I don't need a change of heart. I just need to fix this house."

Unbelievable. 

"If you do all of this to just laugh in my face, you are probably more pathetic than I ever thought." 

The longer you stayed, the heavier the ache had become. 

"You know, I was so afraid meeting my father would disappoint me," you whispered. "Thankfully, you had prepared me. Now I know that whatever waits in the east, it won't hurt nearly as much as this."

In that final moment, Joel knew the chances he waisted, took for granted, had, at last ran out. There were no words to say, no ropes to hold onto. Everything you had given him, everything you allowed yourself to feel for him, vanished into the night as you got up from the stairs, brushed off your knees and disappeared inside. 

The hopes you had given into this, now ached deeply in your chest as you walked upstairs. For a moment, you wondered, whether this would be the end -- of everything. Whether this wound be the final destination. 

Head buried in the bedding; you thought the agony would never go away. The suffocating feeling in your lungs, the cries. The pain swallowed you whole, piece by piece until you found yourself wishing to tear off your own skin to escape it. 

There has not been this much pain inside of you since your mother died. That night, you held her lifeless body, screaming until there was no air left in your lungs. Cursing yourself, cursing the world itself, wishing to come away with her. 

You hoped to never go through this ever again. 

Now, here you were. 

Yet, what turned out to be the worst part of it all was not the pain itself, however intense it might have been. It was the sole realisation that for Joel, you would go through it. The same way you had done with your mother, for Joel, you would do it, too. The role he had earned in your life, despite denying it, settled down. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

Only accepting the grievous conditions. 

He would not, you thought. No, you convinced yourself. 

Would he? 

He wondered, as he found himself standing by the door of your temporary bedroom, watching you sleep. Would he? Would he put his shame and guilt to rest? How many times would he need to ask himself this question before the time ran out? Before the last bits of patience, you had stored for him, vanished along with his chances. 

He looked around the room, taking it all in -- the teared-up wallpaper, missing pieces of furniture, cracked wooden floor. He was right when he said that house was no lost cause. He could have done wonders with it, saving the treasured, replace the destroyed. 

He would paint the walls for you, fix your bed, find new bedding for you -- just to make sure you would have a place to call home. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by peace. He would make you dinner, he would eat it with you on the front porch, whilst the two of you would be watching the sunset. He would force you to help around to garden -- only because he would want to make it safer for you. 

You mattered -- that was the most frightening part of it all. However big of coward he could be, his impulsive urges could never be stronger than the fear. The swallowing, harrowing fear.

So, would he? 

He asked himself again, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

Would he fix it? Instead of the broken windows and leaking celling, would he fix the damage he had done?

Joel sighed. 

His hands grabbed two ends of a blanket. 

There it was -- the feeling. Looking down on you, lying there quietly, he wondered again. 

He wondered that long he did not even notice you had woken up. 

Only when his gaze met yours, all red and tired, he realised he was still holding the ends of the blanket. 

He could have waisted the words. 

Or he could do what felt right for him. What felt familiar. 

"Joel," you mumbled, half-asleep trying to grasp the situation. 

It was hard to keep your eyes open, being too worn out. The only thing you felt was the warm of the blanket you wished to hold onto. You grabbed so tightly on the thread of comfort -- as tight as you could, before you passed out again. 

Holding Joel's hand. 

There it was.

His world collapsed. 

The spare defences left in his scarred hands, vanished. Now, the only one he could have held onto, was your hand. 

Almost twenty one years later, under the hoards of pain and buried memories was the feeling of peace he would never find at a bottom of any bottle. 

Looking down on your, falling asleep under his guard, Joel sighed, before he leaned over to your face. Staring at you quietly, he felt at strangely calm. 

How easy it was for Joel’s world to collapse, with just one look at you. If there were ever to be a salvation, a chance to fix what he had done, pay for mistakes no one would ever put on his name, there it was. Holding his hand.  

There was nothing to forgive, nothing to repay. Despite the anger and frustration he managed to awaken in you with confusing actions, despite your vocal wishes of leaving you alone, you held for your life on the last thread you had given him. 

He wanted to leave -- somewhere in his mind, the coward voice of his past failures urged him to leave and never look back. He could have done it anywhere on the road, having more than enough opportunities. But if his doubts made him a coward, then the fear of losing you made him a twice of one. 

He walked through the cities, through the highways, through the meadows for one reason. The one he denied himself of having, pushing you so far away, he almost lost the last thread. He could never lose the reason, no -- for it lived in him for the past twenty years. It never left, however much Joel tried to convince himself. 

There was something to fight for -- someone to fight for. 

He sat there for a while, losing track of time, holding your hand. He could not move -- he did not want, no. Instead, with shattered breath and trembling existence, Joel dared to squeeze your hand.

In that moment, across the quiet bedroom, Joel could have sworn on his life, his watch started to tick again. 

[saintrvckwell]

with upcoming season of tlou, would anyone be interested in bella ramsey oneshots and pedro oneshots?

[saintrvckwell]

guys, if you wish to be added to the tag list, please let me know!<3

hi, hope you all are doing well. i posted a second part to my joel miller au! let me know what u guys think!

[saintrvckwell]

hi, hope you all are doing well. i posted a second part to my joel miller au! let me know what u guys think!

[saintrvckwell]

alone and forsaken (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!teen!reader AU

part ii of there'll be no rest for the wicked. part i

summary: the consequences of your actions dawned on you, as though the reality of your mother finding out. somewhere, in the middle of it all, wandered your undecided stance on joel.

warnings: angst (as per usual), and i guess a little bit of fluff, miscommunications, the reader is stubborn (but with valid reasons!), father-daughter dynamic, joel giving concerned father vibes (lol)

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: so, this chapter had originally a completely different ending but i decided to rewrite it. i'm still not sure whether i'm happy with this outcome, i will leave that out to you guys. will try my absolute best to finish third part in a shorter time frame. but as usual, for the better, i am not giving out any promises. let me know what you all think!

"alone and forsaken by fate and by man oh, lord if you hear me, please hold my hand oh, please understand"

⭐︎

You never would have guessed how much liquid your body can absorb, not until you found yourself sitting on the cold tiles of your small bathroom, palms sweaty and itchy, as your head rested on the toiled seat. You could have timed yourself; it was like a clockwork. One round after another. 

Perhaps, it was supposed to be a universal slap for being so reckless. You drove away from your rutine -- your stillness and brought a catastrophe upon yourself. It was almost biblical -- which somehow, at three in the morning, made you laugh, whilst you coughed out the rest of your stomach. 

But the true, main crisis, was yet to arrive. In a form of your mother, furious that you had dared to interrupt her vacation with, being so obnoxiously selfish, making her consider how she could have possibly given birth to someone so self-centred. 

The call was coming from inside the house.

She would gloat -- however bad it might sounded. You knew your mother far too well to doubt her reaction. Especially, if the one delivering the message would be her boyfriend. 

A cop. 

A fucking cop. 

She sure knew how to pick them, you thought, crawling through the hall, drowned and exhausted, following the light coming from your room. 

How cursed your luck must have been, to have her boyfriend show up here, like there was no other police crisis around the whole town. No, here he was. Still in his uniform, placing a trashcan next to your bed. You barely registered his presence, being too preoccupied with your current state of mind. 

You noticed the badge on his uniform -- he was not a rookie. How could someone like him run with the same circle as your mother, you kept wondering. 

There was no speech from him, no word uttered. He left the room, vanished like a ghost, until you heard the slam of the front door. Only then, you buried your face into the pillow and for the following five hours, left the world behind. 

Until he stood there again, right by your bed, with bucket of ice water. You did not catch much of his words, barely a single one. Still with the bits of bold attitude left in your system, you chuckled over such image. The frowned face, the thin line of his lips, the fucking police officer stance.

You wished you did not chuckle. 

When the ice drops of water showered you from head to toe. Perhaps, stormed, would have been a better term. Considering the water dripping from your entire being -- your bed almost flowing. 

"What the fuck?!" 

You had to admit, no one ever managed to get out of bed that quickly. 

You nearly slipped on the water dripping from your bedding.

With disheveled hair stuck to your face, mascara running down your cheeks and furious thoughts circling in your mind, you looked up at Joel, almost contemplating to hit him with the bucket he was still holding. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you uttered, aggrieved. 

He was calm as a wind -- you thought he must have been used to such things. Being a cop, he must have been a pro in handling these situations back at the base. If not, too bad for him. 

Yet, that was the problem. This was not his station, and you were not a random drunken teenager who went a little hard on the teenage dream. You were a child of the woman he was currently seeing. If there was to be a professional distance to be kept, the line was already crossed. 

When he was standing in front of you with that damn empty bucket. 

"Time to clean the shit you made," he spoke. 

"To make it nice and clean for my mother's arrival?" you crossed your hands on your chest. "Don't worry Joel, you'll get your badge."

The sarcasm was sharp, cutting right through him. 

"Are you done?" he spoke, after a second. 

"No," you shook your head. "What are you doing here? Why the hell are you here? Out of the goodness of your heart? Spare me that nonsense. Go ahead and make the call, she must be eager to hear what the offspring had done, again."

Perhaps, the nature of his actions was not the one you were expecting. Perhaps, the one you did not allow yourself to even think of. But how could you place your trust in the hands of someone like him? You knew your mother's type by heart. And despite Joel not fitting that description, how could you let yourself falsely hope?

For all you knew, he could have been halfway out of the door.

And you wouldn't blame him, just like all those predecessors. Despite having enough reason to do so. All you had ever known about her partners was the departure. It felt almost natural, to see it happening again and again. Like a stuck record. 

He didn't say anything, even though he wished to. He saw the look in your eyes, buried under all the anguish and anger. The fear -- the look you had the night of your graduation. What promises could he make for you? Without betrayal.

Strangely, the silence was more agonising than him screaming at the top of his lungs, spitting the curses of your impolite behaviour. Instead of waiting around, drowning in the stillness of this situation, you grabbed the bucket from his hands and departed the conversation. 

The living room look like a modern-day battlefield -- if the ammunition was alcohol and the enemy your digestive system. There were cups lying around, spilled drops of alcohol on the floor; the smell was horrendous. You decided to start right there, pick the pieces of what the fallen side has left behind. It took three rounds of mopping the floor and three rounds of vacuuming for it to stop smelling like rotten meat. 

Somewhere between looking for your plastic gloves and plastic bags, you registered Joel's footsteps approaching. Perhaps he was ready to pick up where he left off. You hoped that the headphones on your head would be enough of an indicator to leave you alone. You wanted to bear through your consequences, clean the mess and impatiently await the arrival of your disappointed mother. 

Disappointed that her vacation could not last longer. 

About an hour later, the living room started to resemble what it once used to be. The bags of trash lined by the cabinet -- a vintage piece your mother travelled three hours to get, missing your dentist appointment in seventh grade. She said it was a rare piece; she needed that. One of the many motherly moments you two have shared. 

You never understood her approach. And the first, natural thought that arose in your prepubescent mind was the fact that it was you, who must have been the problem. But whichever ways you tried to find in order to achieve her attention, it did not seem to work. The literary olympics, the valedictorian speech. It was simply never good enough. 

And however much you pretended to not care about it, not let it get to you -- each time, you failed miserably. 

Somewhere in the pits of your mind, you hoped that one day, you would arrive at a point, where it would not hurt anymore. 

Or it would, at least, hurt less than the headache that has been wearing you out all day. 

Consequences of yesterday's actions, you chuckled to yourself, as you picked up another trash bag full of plastic cups, bags of chips and plastic bottles you had lying behind the sofa. Not even two painkillers could stop the banging you have been enduring. It was gruesome. 

You had to take a break, for a second, switch the chores. Whilst cleaning the mess you had made; you might as well do those chores your mother had written down on a list that was hanging on your fridge. Laundry seemed like the easiest option for your headache. 

You had to admit, the house was not the cleanest even before the armagedon, given the clothes lying on the floor and the basket filled with freshly washed ones that now, smelled like a distillery. 

Somewhere in your mind -- you hoped Joel would be gone by now. Even though there was a part of you wanting to find out his true intentions of staying past what was his police officer duty, you could not allow your mind to settle on hopeful scenarios. 

By the time you had gotten to taking care of the laundry, your head was demanding a third painkiller. With basket full of clothes that has been lying around for days, you entered the kitchen to search through your mother's first aid kit -- only to find the police offer himself. 

Spoke too soon, you thought. 

The hope arrived at the doorstep, once again. When you spotted Joel with plastic bag in his hand, picking up empty cups and bottles of beer lined up by the kitchen counter. You vaguely remembered playing beer pong -- that must have been a reason for the insane amount of beer bottles lying around. 

For a split second, you stood there, gazing as if you had seen a ghost. He could have left -- he should have left. Perhaps the news has been delivered to your mother, right on time. And now, he was fulfilling the role of responsible partner. You had to admit -- that theory started to sound like a paranoid reach. You needed to calm down, take a few breaths. 

Joel quickly became aware of your presence but decided to pay no mind to it -- and instead, finish what he'd started. You placed the basket on the kitchen counter and reached into the third shelf to grab another painkiller, hoping it would bring the desired salvation. Only then you buried your hands into the dirty laundry -- wanting to sort out colours and materials. 

But then -- there it was. 

A piece of paper, hanging from your back pocket, buried under t-shirts and cloths you picked up around the house. That was the gruesome part you wished to forget -- never think of it again. But how could you, when there was a waving reminder? It hit you like a storm, swallowing you whole, the same fear you had, in the exact same place. 

It must have been one prolonged nightmare, you thought. Especially when you pulled out the paper with his name, a abhorrent message he definitely wrote in hopes of impressing you and a phone number that engraved into your mind. For a moment, you felt as though a tight rope wrapped around your neck. 

In the heat of the moment, you grabbed the pair of pants you wore yesterday and almost theatrically shoved them into the trashcan -- finally, earning Joel's attention. Seeing you standing above the trashcan, the panic glancing in your eyes. 

It was quiet, for a second, as though the time has stopped. Until your eyes met with his and a sudden cold wave of embarrassment covered your body -- the flaming heat in your cheeks. Without a thought, you grabbed the basket and slammed the kitchen door so loudly, that people down the block must have heard it, too. 

It felt as one, turbulent rollercoaster of emotions, that got ahold of your body. You found yourself leaning against the washing machine -- each exhale was heavier than the one before. You had to calm down, you had to keep your shit together. 

You could not give Joel the time of the day, watching the consequences of yesterday hitting you this hard. 

Joel, who stood by the door of your utility room, watching the nervous breakdown unfold. Took you nearly two minutes to realise he was there -- you turned around to pick up the laundry, instinctively jumping back as soon as you saw him, hitting your back against the washing machine. 

It must have been the longest thirty seconds of your life as you kept sniffing and wiping your tears away with your sleeves. You could not possibly look into his eyes -- no, not like this. 

"Just go, Joel," you mumbled, shaking your head -- as if you disagreed with your own words. Did you really want him to go? 

He stood there for a moment, just staring. As though he was contemplating his own mind. 

The silence was aggravating. 

"Go get changed," he ordered, at last. 

"What?" you frowned. "Joel-"

"It wasn't a discussion," he mumbled. "Ten minutes, I'll wait in the car."

With that, Joel departed the room. It was almost frightening how calm he was. He did not bother to wait around for any more of your observations and questions. Two minutes later, you heard the engine in the driveway, urging you to stop staring at the spot he'd just occupied and go get a move on.

You decided it was probably best to not test his patience right now and took only two minutes to change out of sweatpants and grab your stuff before you were walking down the stairs. To be honest, you could not quite figure out the purpose of Joel's sudden urge for road trip but felt that it was probably for the best to not ask. 

The drive was quiet, except for the Pearl Jam tunes filling the space around. You tried your best not to stare at him, you could not bring yourself to stop -- you wanted to figure him out. Despite talking yourself into his approaching departure from your lives, you could not escape the curiosity about his persona.

Joel noticed the not-so-subtle stares you were giving him but rather decided to not acknowledge them and follow the green light. A few minutes later, and just in the time -- once you heard the squeaking sound coming from your stomach, Joel stopped in front of something that resembled a restaurant. 

The state of it was a slightly concerning -- but there was no time for second thoughts, as Joel was already out of the car, heading towards the entrance. 

It was a textbook classic diner on the outskirts. Oddly chosen colour of the interior, boxes with leather seats -- they were probably twice your age, considering the peeled off state of their existence. It was simple, nothing to write home about. But it had a good atmosphere. 

And loads of cops. 

On the way to one of the boxes, Joel managed to grab two menus from the counter, nodding to an elder woman standing behind it. He was probably a regular, you thought -- especially once you saw the numbers of cops sitting by the bar, munching on club and roast beef sandwiches. 

Straight out of a script type of place. You wanted to chuckle. 

You quickly noticed number of them waving and greeting Joel -- it felt like a goddamn police officers meet and greet. Thankfully, Joel was polite but reserved -- only nodded back, did a pathetic little wave and then finally, at last, sat down. 

For a moment, the silence swallowed your box. 

"How many other cop hangouts do you have?”

Until the sheer curiosity mixed with loaded sarcasm crept into your mind. 

Joel did not really try to hide the annoyance your question had caused. He slowly pulled his eyes from the menu, staring at you for a second, contemplating whether you were being serious. 

"I'm making notes, y'know. In case I wanna contribute to town's tourist guide. God knows this city is dead, we have to spice things up."

As soon as those words left your mouth, a loud groan escaped from Joel's. He rolled his eyes before looking at you again. 

"Do you happen to have any personality traits other than being so desperately unfunny?"

You chuckled, shaking your head before your eyes locked with the menu, again.

"Do they have milkshakes?" you wondered out loud. 

Joel seemed almost shocked by that question. 

"You're not getting a milkshake," he replied. 

The profound confusion in your face made him roll his eyes. 

"Kid, you got a hangover," he spoke -- the police officer demeanour crept in again. 

You wanted to quickly jump for your own defence, but he continued. 

"Don't argue with me, you look like shit," he frowned. 

"What does have to do with my food choices?"

"You can't drink milk on hangover stomach, Christ," he seemed so theatrically offended by your lack of hangover cure knowledge. "You need something that is going to soak up the alcohol, something greasy."

"I don't think there is any more alcohol left in my system," you mumbled, closing the menu.

He could not help but chuckle. He was clearly enjoying it.

"See? This is why you shouldn't drink, when you know shit about it."

With that, the conversation died off. For once, because his words managed to aim to your sore spots and, because the waiter finally arrived -- in the right moment. 

Joel took the menu from your hands, handed her both of them, before ordering double cheeseburger and ranch friends, for you. He did not even let you speak, only looked at you once the waitress went away with your order. It was odd, being dealt with this way. You and your mother never did this -- no dinners, no lunches. Only takeouts at home that each of you ate on their own. 

Now, you were sitting in a diner with Joel, who was sipping on his decaf, looking around, as though trying to figure out where is the right clue to start the conversation, again. His words felt sore, but tone of his voice made you doubt the true meaning behind it. 

He was not gloating, no. But you also would not let yourself believe he had done it out of the goodness of his heart. 

And because there was not holding you back, you dared to ask what you feared. 

"Does she know?" you mumbled. 

Joel looked up from the window, eyes locking with yours, frowning over your question. He seemed almost offended, pulling away, shaking his head. 

"You think I am that kind of an asshole?" he spoke. 

"I haven't figured out what kind of asshole you are," you whispered. "Y'know, my mother had dated all kinds of them. I have to take precautions."

Crossing his hands over his chest, he leaned back into the seat, taking an unsure look at you -- he did not know what to think. 

"By declaring me to be one, already?" he stared a hole into you, his eyebrows nearly dipping into his eyes. 

"You know what, yes!" 

Your hands flew in the air as you gesticulated the frustration that has been building inside of you. 

"Joel for all I care we could walk out of this diner, and I would never see you again," you sighed. "I am not like my mom. I won't let you walk into my life, disorganise my existence, pack your shit and leave without saying goodbye. So yeah, Joel, for now are an asshole." 

Now, there it was. The harsh truth that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Having been burned so many times before, how could you willingly give Joel a free pass without even considering the consequences. How could you dive right in and bet on your hopes when you were not even sure whether there was someone holding the other end of the rope. 

Or was there?

You saw it in his face, the urge to let his emotions get the best of him. Of course, he wanted to speak, jump for his defence. Only, at last, the truth had dawned on him. 

The fact that, at the end of the day, Joel could not promise you anything. 

Not, unless he wanted to line up next all those who preceded him. To declare himself an asshole on his own, with empty words to offer. 

And he couldn't. Joel wouldn't. 

He knew he couldn’t do that to you. 

So, he didn't spoke and no justifications arrived. He failed to find any words that would fill the empty space between the two of you. He welcomed the silence with open arms and sighed. So loud, you thought the people three boxes away must have heard that too. 

But despite the absence of desperate attempts, he could not look away. And you were aware of it, too aware. That’s why there was no desire to look into his eyes, when you felt so defeated. The only thing you wished to do was to finish your meal, grab your belongings and depart this entire situation. 

The pressure on your chest became too heavy to ignore. Once again, the invisible rope around your neck tightened a little more. You swallowed the rest of your meal so quickly; Joel thought you might choke yourself. He kept staring, utterly confused with your sudden change of behaviour. 

In a minute, the plate was empty. 

You wiped the sauce from your lips, as you looked up, at once. 

"Can we go now?"

And he stared, still. Almost cynically. 

"What the--?"

Then, a tale as old as time for anyone who has ever been drunk before, your stomach hit the reverse.

And there it was. 

For the second time, in the spawn of twenty-four hours, Joel had found himself standing by the bathroom door. Again. 

It went down so quickly, figuratively and literally, that before you knew it, you were standing in front of the bathroom sink, gripping the edges, feeling the cold drips running down your cheeks. Convinced that if none of the before forced Joel walk away, second time's a charm. 

The ride home was quiet.

There were no cassettes, this time. No tune that would fill out the nothingness around. Just you, counting the cabrios in the rearview mirror. 

And Joel, staring ahead. 

If there would be a contest of avoiding each other’s sight, you were not sure which one of you would be the ultimate winner. Sitting next to each, there has never been a bigger distance. Each to their own, neither dared to look. 

To be honest, despite the situation, you were not exactly anticipating the return. Not only there was the remaining mess that needed to be taken care of, it was the emptiness the house reeked of. The prolonged, insufferable emptiness. That, at this point, not even your false confidence could have saved. It was fun while it lasted, having the entire place to yourself. But the longer, she was away, the harder it was to maintain yourself above the surface. 

And not let it all swallow you. 

The days were long, the nights were short. Eventually, it all blended into each other. If it was not for the work at the movies, you would find to desire to leave the house. Each day, it was exactly the same. Nothing to do. 

No one to talk to. 

Now, with the only difference of rubbish laying around. 

The driveway in front of the garage was too big for one car, you thought when Joel pulled in. One car, that was most of the time gone anyways. It was almost a rare occasion to arrive home from school and see her car, see the living room light on. Most of the days, the house was dark. No light to hold out. 

At a certain point, she felt like a distant relative, not a mother. You saw more of her notes on the fridge, than of her face. Yet, even after all this time, she was still someone for whom you kept the light on, despite the fact that she did not deserve it. You should have kept the door closed. 

It kept bugging you, what the two of them had in common. There must have been something wrong about Joel, you were almost convinced of such. An error, a crooked part of his being. Or else, how could he run into your mother? If he was to be the person he proclaimed, there must have been something. 

It was almost pathetic, how desperately you wished for Joel to be crooked. How much you wished for him to be a traitor — empty handed traitor, who, by now, would have shown you all of his true colours. But however much you tried to look for such signs, there was nothing. Which, in the end, was even worse. 

You would rather wish for Joel to be a deceitful sociopath, that a decent human being. A person worth of the kind of efforts your mother never bothered to acknowledge. Everything would have been easier. 

You wouldn’t be sitting in his car, holding the hope in your hands. 

It would not be this frightening. 

To wonder whether he would dare to carry it. 

The engine stopped running. 

But the two of you continued to sit there, like ghosts. Two people who ran out of all their excuses - at least that was your case. What was going through Joel’s head, you failed to figure out. 

What was going through yours, he figured out quickly, seeing how fixated your sight was on the front door. There was no desire to leave, no slamming of the door. You stared out on front porch, looking for courage to finally depart this entire day. To walk away and never look back, pretend there was no existence of the last forty-eight hours. 

To sit down by your desk, open your laptop and search for the Pearl Jam song he had on. Look up the police station, for all you cared. Look up his name, wanting to learn more. More of who he was. Because all the chances you could have had, you forbid yourself from accepting. All those open doors, you locked from the other side. 

And there was no key. 

Unlike the one, who started the engine. 

Again. 

He must have gotten tired of you sitting around, wanted to urge you to leave; you thought. So you dared to look back at the driver’s seat, waiting for your clue, but there was none. Too preoccupied with browsing through his cassettes, he didn’t see the puzzled look in your eyes. And when the desired piece of Hank Williams filled out the empty space in between, Joel turned the key one more time and hit the reverse. 

There was no sign, no cue — not when the lights hit the garage door and the driveway started to fade away. He said no word, paid no mind to your confusion, only listened to what has been left unspoken. Your desire to not yet return back to the battlefield and the previous conversation, the two of you left in the diner. 

Each, he answered simply by handing you his box of cassettes. 

“Pick the next one but choose wisely, it better be good,” he spoke, at last, as though to remove at least one part of your confusion.

Only then his eyes locked with the road again as you dove into his collection. 

At the very top, the Pearl Jam cassette sat. The one you were determined to search for in the deepest pits of your interest browser. But now, there was no need for it anymore. It was right there, with Future Days written on it with a black marker. 

Perhaps, right there, you understood. 

He could have followed the pattern of absurdity and hang on words that took more than they promised. He could have done it, for the sake of his guilty conscience, because he would not be the first one. Or, instead, Joel could have walked away from the line of his predecessors. 

And hold out his hand. 

Or, metaphorically, a box of records. 

“This one,” you mumbled, as you handed him the cassette. 

He swiftly look over the tape, chuckling as soon as noticed the title. 

“Future Days, huh?” he wondered. “Must’ve made impression.”

You shrugged your shoulders, leaning into the seat. “The jury’s still out.”

There was a look you gave him, a very brief one, that he reciprocated. It hid no promises behind. Only the truth. 

That, for the first time, there was someone holding the other end of your rope.  

[saintrvckwell]

hey! because i am enormous christmas freak, for this year, i had decided (now let's collectively manifest i'll keep my word) to write tlou themed christmas one shots.

i will also expand outside of my regular characters (joel; ellie, lol) regarding the last of us universe. so, if you got an idea or a wish, pop into my requests and merry almost christmas!

[saintrvckwell]

hi, i am still here, surprisingly. i don't think any of you wants to read any long essays regarding my absence here so i'l just say: i make no promises but i hope to get back into it on more frequent basis.

anyhow, i just published au with joel miller (platonic reader). i got this idea a year ago and just now decided to bring it to life. don't worry, i plan to continue to write about ellie. lately i have been thinking about expanding my writing among other fandoms, but i will have to rethink that.

lastly, my reguests are still open! take care!

[saintrvckwell]

There'll be no rest for the wicked (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!teen!reader AU

summary: more than enough of your mother's vices waltzed into your life unannounced, leaving without a trace. but then, then there was joel.

warnings: heavily implied father-daughter dynamic, joel grows protective for the reader, father-daughter bond, platonic stuff and thangs, angst as well (what else i would write, lol), but man the fluff, joel works as a cop (lol howdy), trigger warning mentioned into story (there is a warning before the scene! -- nothing happens, but the nature of it implies the boy's intentions, so i rather chose to give a warning)

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: hi! lately i found myself enjoying the joel x platonic reader stories again and figured, i could contribute myself, again. treat the daddy issues strugglers like me, ha. enjoy!

splitting this into more parts, please, be patient with me.

Your mother was never the nurturing type. For her, this word did not exist in her vocabulary. She loved you, you supposed, because there was never a clear sign. You were left to wonder. Whether she really cared and if so, where was she?

Throughout your childhood, your mother seemed like a visitor. Someone who, once in a while, passes through. There was never a holiday, spontaneous trip or even a lunch. She had lunch, just not with you. Her friends, her social life -- it was everything for her.

And it seemed, as though, you were not part of that list.

From time to time, as you were growing up, the idea of your father popped in your mind couple of times. Your mother never told you his name, went as far as to not include him in your birth certificate. There was no clue. So, for a child, who's yearning for a presence of loving parent, your imagination stepped in.

Whenever your mom would be on a business trip or simply out with your friends, you would sit on the windowsill, counting the threes below your apartment window. Until you fell asleep. Until the dreams, the wishful thinking, the cycling imagination, gave you what you had been looking for.

A father.

It was natural, you thought. You wished to be saved from your mother's claws. Unmaternal claws that suffocated you. The desire in your eyes, she saw it. But never bothered to do something about it. Your mother never cared, she never listened. She never came to your recitals, school races or when you gave a valedictorian speech.

You put your sweat and tears into it -- trying to figure out that your message will be received. It was a significant moment in your life, or so the teachers kept saying. The praises were coming from every direction, except for the one you wished for the most.

This was the moment you were hoping for -- that she would finally acknowledge your achievements and efforts. And she would come, sit in the first row and cheer you on.

But the reserved seat stayed empty.

And you found yourself standing in the middle of the parking lot, diploma in your hands; your mother nowhere to be found. You waited, for almost an hour, before pulling out the keys from your backpack and setting off, walking the streets in your graduation robe, wiping away the tears you promised yourself not to waste.

Not on her.

When instead of trying, she stayed at home.

With a man.

The anger was running through your veins and the patience was standing on the edge of a cliff.

You could go ballistic.

Who would have blamed you anyways. Your mother's attitude gave you enough reasons to scream it out of your lungs and lose control. But, perhaps, the anger was the one, standing on the top.

The bittersweet taste of disappointment, there it was again.

"Hey, how was school today?" she asked, casually, as though it was an ordinary day -- to be frank, she probably had forgotten about your ceremony anyways.

The man, standing by the kitchen island, with a glass of brandy in his hand, turned around.

Compared to what had travelled through your apartments over the years, he looked decent. Well-dressed, without an awful cologne and more importantly -- without a fake smile. Most of your mother's short-term partners would always pretend wanting to find out more about you.

When they only wanted to find out what was under your mother's clothes.

Still, it would not last forever, you thought.

"Good," you mumbled, putting the cap back on your head. "Same stuff as usual."

There was an urge to leave this uncomfortable setting but before you made a move, the strange man had noticed the clothes you had been wearing and smiled, again. As if though it was contagious.

"Congratulations," he spoke.

Your mother looked up, eyeing your appearance.

"Oh, you had the thing today, right?" she mumbled, grabbing her glass of vine.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Somehow, the bizarre kept getting worse.

"Yeah, the Valedictorian thing, if that's what you mean," you mumbled, holding onto the red case of your diploma.

"Cool," she nodded, "Hey, how about you go pick us up some celebratory dinner? Noodles down the street?"

The anger crawled back into your mind.

"It's raining outside," you shook your head.

"Ever heard of umbrella?"

You never attempted to lash out at her -- solely because of knowing the fact that she would not care. But now, when she stood next to her latest boyfriend, vine in her hand and disinterest in her eyes, you just wanted to scream.

Every symptom of emerging emotional breakdown was on its way, and you knew, you had to get out of there. Not another word said, as you departed into your room. There was no energy to slam the door -- to give a little statement.

Throwing off the robe, along with the diploma, you laid down on the cold, wooden floor and closed your eyes. Five minutes, you just needed five minutes to gather your thoughts. You got four years left, in the same household. Then you would be free.

You never understood her stance. Why was it so easy to show to all of her dates and parties, but never to yours? When you stood on the stage, reciting your speech, you could see the numerous pairs of eyes of those proud parents.

You did want her to sit among them and weep.

You just want her there.

At this point, you would be grateful for anything. For the tinniest amount of your mother's affection that she so graciously gave to her boyfriends.

"Can I come in?"

The voice on the other side of your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

There he was her boyfriend.

You did not know why he knocked on your door and frankly, you did not care. He was going to be here long, there is no point in getting to know a temporary vise.

He could not overlook the redness in your cheeks and how swollen your eyes had gotten.

At that moment, you were thankful he decided to not care either.

Or perhaps?

"So, what food for the celebration?" he asked, trying to cheer up the mood, after a minute of an awkward silence.

You frowned.

"I was thinking, since it's raining, we could take a drive and pick up something for dinner."

There was an urge to leave the house, without a doubt. And you could either take a walk and come back soaked and cold, and mainly, hungry. Or you could follow him to the front door, watch him grab the cars keys and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

The further the house had gotten, the lighter your shoulders had become. The burden of your frustration kept following you everywhere, like an unwanted traveler. But now, you had a moment to breathe out a little, after everything that had happened today.

Even if it meant taking a ride with mom's newest obsession.

For a moment, you cursed yourself for not taking your phone -- since the first few minutes of your drive seemed awfully awkward. You could have at least pretended to read something profoundly engaging instead of staring out of the window, visibly trying to avoid his sight.

He was not very talkative, but still, had this odd aura that floated around the car. There was no tension, especially once he put a cassette in, having the tunes of Billy Idol fill out the space between the two of you.

He had a good taste, you thought. But still -- he was not going to be here longer than two weeks. Why invest your time, you thought.

"So, valedictorian huh?"

After ten minutes of the drive, he finally decided to break through the initial awkwardness.

You looked up from your sneakers, staring at him.

"It's just a stupid red diploma case, nothing else," you shrugged your shoulders, whilst rubbing your fingers, nervously.

He chucked, shaking his head.

"You cannot be so modest, c'mon," he so exclaimed enthusiastically, you found yourself staring at him, little taken aback. "I mean," he gave you a quick look, before locking the eyes with the green light, "You should give yourself a little credit. It is an achievement."

Somewhere, in the pits of your heart, under the walls you were forced the built, there was laying a part of you, wishing to hear this. Only if the source could have been your mother. She had these sweets words for everyone, but you. There was never an applause to be given -- not that you would be asking for it. But a little pat on the shoulder never hurt anyone.

But she never cared enough to do it. So, you settled yourself with the determination to do more, to try more. The desperation ran through your veins like fuel.

Despite the desire to hide it, his words brought a smile on your lips. With that, the awkward silence vanished, as you drove through the suburbs, with Billy Idol's White Wedding.

That evening, somewhere in the middle of ordering your victory dinner, you learned that his name was Joel. And for the first time, you caught yourself thinking that, perhaps, it would not be so bad if your mother's newest vise stayed for more than two weeks.

Over the summer, to your surprise, your mother and Joel had grown significantly closer, travelling almost all the time. You found a job at your local cinema -- with too much free time on your hand, you could have used it for something practical. Saving money was always a good choice. You spent your days watching the same comedy three times in a row, covered by the smell of cheese popcorn and splashes of coke on your sneakers.

Of course, your mother would stop by -- although, mostly to just repack and set off, again. Throughout the summer holidays, you hardly ran into each other. Usually, she left before you got home from work. She would leave a concise note on the fridge (or, if she was running late, a text message) stuck together with a small chunk of money.

As the days went by, you happened to notice the uneasiness that suddenly settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew the source very well -- the good, old, fear of missed opportunities.

It was supposed to be your last summer before high school, naturally, there was the teenage urge to do something memorable. Something, perhaps, completely out of your comfort zone.

And, as it turned out, your empty house presented an incredible opportunity.

Before this sudden urge to fit into your generation, you had never thrown a party. Frankly -- you had no clue how to throw one. Clueless to arrange but eager to learn, the help of your friends seemed as the best fit. As people more fitting for the extrovert description, it posed no issue for them.

Thus, the curse landed on your shoulders.

Certainly, you had no idea how quickly these thinks can come together. It took bunch of your friends, pack of plastic cups, one text message and before you knew, the beer was lined up by the front door and your suburban house was filled with at least thirty people from which almost a half of it were high schoolers.

Seniors, if you may add.

Quickly, they managed to turn your dining room into beer pong game hall, with liquid spilling all over your mother's expensive rugs. Only then, the feeling in your gut started to cry out for help. There were the warning signs, hanging in your mind -- but each one was followed by a cup of beer, until you found yourself looking for a balance.

You lost the track of time, somewhere between your cups, as well as of your friends. It was supposed to be one, welcoming drink. But the more your house turned into a trashcan, the bigger was the urge to kill the voice in your head, cursing you.

For being so reckless in the first place.

Before this spontaneous get together, you had not encountered alcohol -- certainly not in form as large as this one. Rules of drinking were unknown to you; not that you would be too intrigued about them, in your state.

In that moment, the only think you cared about was to stand on your own for more than two seconds. The world around you had become a little dizzy -- this state of being was completely new for you which was quite noticeable for the ones around you.

So, it happened to be a matter of time before one of the seniors posed himself as the knight in shining armor.

If only.

You were aware of his presence but paid no mind at first. After another lost round of beer pong (with no surprise, against him), you had decided to get yourself some water to freshen up. You had no desire whatsoever to lead a conversation with him, let alone anyone else. You wanted to stumble back to your bedroom, lock the door and sleep this off.

Unfortunately, in your current state, path to your bedroom down the hall felt like a ten-kilometer-long hike.

trigger warning for the part below

"Are you okay?"

He could not have asked more useless question. The false concern almost made you chuckle.

"I am absolutely perfect," you grinned your teeth at him.

"You should get some rest," he spoke, unsettling smile on his lips as he brought himself closer to you, locking your possible ways out.

He was much taller, undeniably stronger and determined.

Without a doubt, that was the worst combination.

"Thanks," a forced smile landed on your lips. You had to be smart about this, given his advantages. "But I should actually go and look for my friends."

There was an attempt to make a move, quick slip out of his claws.

You have not even fully tried it, he was already in your away, again.

"I can help you look," the creepiness of his smile imprinted on your brain. "We can search your bedroom first."

The gulp in your throat grew so big, you thought it was going to explode in your stomach, pulling everything out as well. The anxiety was circling throughout your body, up and down, the sweat was running down your shoulders, despite how cold the room had become. Every bone in your body, every nerve sent a signal into your brain.

The fear was going to swallow you whole.

You have never encountered a situation like this. The uneasiness that suddenly held so tight on you.

You could have screamed but what that be good for? Everyone around were too drunk to notice and too unbothered to care, anyways.

Or perhaps, there were exceptions.

end of the trigger warning part

Just not exactly those you would ask for, voluntarily.

You always knew that the universe had its ways to fuck with you.

But this time, this time, came the cherry on the top.

When the scream echoed around the house, buying you an escape from this situation, leaving him too shocked to notice, you ran into the shambles that once used to be your living room, coming face to face with universe's sense of humor.

Dressed in a police uniform, wearing your mother's boyfriend's face.

There he was, catching the sight of your drunken appearance.

"Oh, fuck."

Your stunned reaction came louder than you initially intended, reaching the wrong ends.

His end.

"Officer Miller, we arrived at the scene of disturbance, over..."

You mother's never mentioned his occupation -- not that you would be dying to know, but having this intel beforehand, before you had decided to tarnish your and your mother's reputation, could have been a little useful.

Now, there was no way back, as you watched three other police officers enter your nearly-destroyed house. The number of scenarios lined up in your anxious mind, one coming off worse than the previous. Frankly, just the idea of your mother receiving such phone call, interrupting her annual girls' trip, the wrath would be horrid.

After that, you would wish to be invisible, in her eyes.

You had no idea how these things work. Couple of your friends once mentioned how a party, they attended, ended being busted but the process was never shared. So, you stood there, as though your limbs had frozen, watching the cops escorting all of the kids outside.

He could have been an asshole -- with all due honesty, part of you thought he would be. Your self-made catastrophe presented an incredible opportunity to turn himself into a hero in your mother's eyes. Her brave vise that had stopped her adolescent daughter from drinking her brains out.

But when the distance between the two of you decreased and his hand landed on your arm, you founded yourself letting a sigh of relief escape through your lips.

You were not out of the woods yet.

As inconspicuously as one could, Joel walked you out of the filled living room and back into the kitchen. He was aware of the liquid courage running through your veins -- after all, he was a cop. This, most likely, was not his first rodeo.

Also, he was not an idiot.

Or so you thought, for now.

It all depended on the events that were about to unfold.

"Here," he mumbled, handing you a glass of tap water, "get some more, I will be right back."

Within a second, he was one foot out of the door.

"What now?" you called out, curiosity prevailing the fear for a glimpse of second.

"They'll do search up, so unless you wanna get your ass busted, you better stay here."

With that, he departed into the hallway, as you dissolved into your anxieties, chucking one glass after another, naively hoping the sobriety would arrive sooner.

Despite the conditions, your foggy brain was capable of holding onto the ends, getting the grasp of what was going on, from the pieces you had gathered. There had to be an advantage he had found in helping you out, you thought. The possibility of him acting on the goodness of his heart seemed too absurd to even consider.

All at once, every partner your mother had brought into your life was a copy of his predecessor. One shallow as the other, hollow and unauthentic as the one before. None of them, especially those who you once had decided to give a little faith, succeeded.

So as exaggerated as it may came to be, you could not let yourself get easily fooled. Despite the part of you that wanted to.

Undoubtedly, there was something about him, the warm your mother never had.

But once that you started building castles in the air, you knew it was over.

So, you had to snap out of your liquid-influenced thoughts and stood stern on the ground.

There was no time to be naive.

Especially, once the so-thought, banished glimpse of danger entered your space, again.

just in case, (last) trigger warning for part below

In all directions.

It still baffled you how tall and buffed he was -- he could surely pass for an adult. Adult that should have no interest in girl your age, but here he was. With that intense gaze, sheepish smile and hands that quickly found their way to your hips.

"Brought you something," he whispered, reaching into his back pocket.

He slowly reached closer, his breath brushing against your cheeks, as his hand slipped in the back pocket of your jeans, tucking something in. Only then, he pulled away, hands still resting dangerously close to your body.

"Your friend told me you're coming in September," he smiled. "Figured we could finish what we started."

In that moment, you were stone cold sober.

"I think you should go," you mumbled, rubbing your fingers. "The cops and everything.."

You had to find an easy way to let him down. Words from people like him, especially the fabricated ones, travelled faster than one would have wanted.

But he turned out to be too persistent for your abilities.

"Seriously, you're gonna get in trouble," you chuckled, as forcibly as one could, to shake off the fear.

He laughed, shaking his head.

The false care was the right string to pull, as he became more curious of the sounds coming from the living room. The voices layered over each other, mostly coming from the cops and their walkie-talkies.

He turned around, one last time -- and the second his face lowered to your height, the worst flew over your mind, as the fear squeezed you like a ball.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing to throw up.

Right into his face, right all over him.

end of the trigger warning part

"What the hell are you doing here?"

But perhaps, digestive problems could have been postponed.

When you found officer Miller standing by the kitchen entrance.

Officer Miller.

You were not sure whether it was the alcohol or the bizarre nature of this situation, but there was an urge to laugh over this phrase.

How absurd, you thought, that of all people, your mother would decide to date a police officer? The more you thought about this, the more you reassured yourself that he, truly, was not her usual type.

Whether it was a good or bad thing depended on the following twenty minutes.

The obtrusive boy gave you one last, nightmarish smile, before he followed your mother's vise out of the kitchen. You could not shake off the feeling his intrusive actions had left on you -- the eerie look on his face, the smile of winner. For awakening the fear.

You wished for this situation to disappear, cursing yourself for ever having such ideas.

After a while, the house fell into silence. The sirens outside the front door started to disappear, along with the heavy steps and chatters. You could not even think of the consequences that would follow this dreadful idea.

The urge to throw up arrived again.

And the kitchen sink turned out to be the only available option. So, naturally, within a second, every liquid your body had absorbed tonight, ended up exactly there.

There was no point in asking if this situation could have gotten any worse.

Because it could.

In the middle of cleansing your organs, whilst your hands were gripping the edges of the kitchen sink, you heard the slam of the front entrance, before a set of footsteps headed towards you.

It really could get worse.

Hair disheveled, mind on a rollercoaster and balance slowly disappearing into the night. Your already skilled friends knew how to throw a party -- just did not give you the manual of processing one. For a moment, you wondered whether your cheeks were splashed by the water, or perhaps, if those were tears, running down your neck.

Nothing about this night you wished to treasure. And you knew that what was about to follow -- was right behind.

Literally.

The pat on your shoulder startled you, almost hitting your forehead against the kitchen cabinet above. Slowly, turning off the faucet, you took a deep breath, trying to keep your existence in one place -- in all senses.

Knowing your current state -- Joel chose to be careful with the physical closeness, moving his hand away as soon as the room felt quiet again. Letting you turn away on your own, he stepped back, remaining focused, just in case your balance would decide to betray you.

"Get some more water," he mumbled, hands on his hips, as he watched you jump up on the cabinet. "That ain't smart, doin' this, y'know."

"Do I look like someone who makes smart decisions?" you hissed, wiping away the drops on your chin. Perhaps, the liquid courage was awaking, you thought.

Sigh escaped through his lips, now formed into thin line.

"Where's your mom?" he asked -- stepping into his police officer demeanor, frowning.

You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders, leaving him more confused than before.

"You don't know?" you looked up, mockery tone now swallowing your voice. "I'm surprised, considering you know more about her whereabouts than I do."

The sentence left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

The frown has disappeared, as he stood there, noticing the shift in your attitude.

"Does she know?" he asked, after a moment.

The look in his face almost made you roll your eyes. It was the typical look of someone who was about to offer you a lecture no one had asked for. Considering your experience with your mother's temporary better halfs, Joel was just passing through. None of your mother's relationships passed the three months mark. He was about to be gone in a blink of an eye.

"Look, I am trying to help you--"

Now, there it was.

The sentence, all of them had practiced. The sweet-caring tone of his voice, the pitiful look in his eyes -- all of them were the same.

Or perhaps.

You could not bet on him.

"Okay," you mumbled, chuckling again. "Good for you."

Joel's frustration started to arise. You did not make it easy on him.

He shook his head, trying to maintain his patience.

"Listen, smart ass," he stepped closer, as the frown arrived again. Although, this time with disaffection. "An ounce of gratitude would not hurt you."

Bitting your lip, you got off the kitchen counter, now standing face to face with Joel. He was much taller, with broad shoulders -- he was the epitome of someone who tried to play the good cop.

"Okay, Joel," you whispered, deadly sarcastic.

It was a risky situation; you were well aware. But the events of this evening emptied the rest of your decency.

"Thank you for being such generous police officer, even though we both know your true intentions," you smiled and curtsied.

Now there it was.

The thin ice had been broken and Joel's patience ran over the edge.

"Excuse me?" he asked, offended.

"Excuse me," you whispered. "I've got a house to clean. So why don't you go ahead and give my mother a call? She'll be delighted."

Part of you knew that being this harsh could come back and bite you in the ass. Perhaps it was the defense mechanism -- your mother had never brought an exemplary man into your life. And if they happened to resemble one and you chose to believe it, they vanished into the thin air before you knew it.

You could not settle with the thought of Joel being an exception.

For your own good -- for the high hopes you would be willing to give him.

Joel stared at you for a little, without uttering a word. Which, you chose as an opportunity to leave this conversation for good.

But it took one step in your condition, for you to fall on your knees.

Howls of pain escaped through your lips.

And two steady hands pulled you back before you managed to smack your face against the cold, kitchen tiles.

"Fuck!"

Curse words were flying left and right, though Joel had decided to ignore that. He could have paid you back -- which you were kind of expecting. Instead, with one swift move, you were back on your feet, with Joel being the one responsible for your balance.

The world around became slightly dizzy. And, for a moment, it felt as though your limbs were made out of Jell-O. The funny bubbling in your stomach made you laugh.

"I think I am gonna throw up."

Was the last thing you whispered, before leaning against the floor, letting the remaining bits of alcohol depart on the tiles.

It was Joel who, once again, caught you in the last minute.

"You really are a fuckin´ pain in the ass, kid."

It really, really, could get worse.

[saintrvckwell]

so true for babygirl joel miller

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

[saintrvckwell]

that’s so kind of you:’) thank you<3

platonic joel miller recs

hi people! just hear to drop some of the platonic joel miller fics i’ve read to show these amazing writers some more appreciation! (+ i’ve been asked for any recs i may have so here is a small list !!! pls drop any other writers who should be here in the comments, i don’t see enough platonic fics <3)

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

all that’s been lost — @hollowbridgers

notre dame — @lemonlaides

the weight of his care — @prentissluvr

no alarms & no surprises — @j0elmill3r

lead me to the truth and i will follow you with my whole life — @saintrvckwell

your bear — @rrickgrrimes8

what’s the worst that could happen to a girl who’s already hurt? — @elskittie

safe & sound, vol. 1 — @hevstlouera

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

also, this is your reminder of your responsibility as a reader: check out the warnings before going ahead, and respect all of the rules on these guys’ blogs!

i hope you guys don’t mind being tagged, but let me know <3

[saintrvckwell]

<3 this just made my day! i love you??? literally both you and your brilliant work?? this makes me so motivated to sit down and write another platonic piece, omg

read through your master list and I’m loving the platonic!reader!! It’s such a fresh take and I’m living for it. I wish more authors wrote this way :(

i love love love platonic!reader :’) i wish more authors wrote them too !!! especially for father figure joel because he has my whole heart <3 we all deserve a dad like him !!!

if you haven’t read it already, may i recommend this fic !!! it’s by @saintrvckwell + is one of the only platonic joel fics i’ve found and it’s so so well written, lives in my head RENT FREE!!! (should really start charging for this tbh!!)

[saintrvckwell]

“here’s the dad you deserved to have” was the first hit and then you just kept GOING, your joel fic was sososososososo good

ah, thank you so much!!! :’) i had this idea in my mind for a while, wasn’t sure if it was gonna work but i’m so glad that, apparently, it did! <3

[saintrvckwell]

HOLY SHIT THANK YOU??? i literally adore your joel stories and to have you compliment mine?? need a second to process that. BUT YEAH FATHER FIGURE JOEL DESERVES THE WORLD and nothing less

Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!reader

summary: perhaps now, twenty one years later, joel finally found the courage to face his fears. aka joel finally allows himself to accept the role he has in your life.

warnings: father-figure joel miller (more like an invitation rather than warning), fluff, slight angst at times, father-daughter duo kind of moments.

words count: 9.5k

a/n: joel miller was always the coolest father but pedro's portrayal took that to a whole new level. dedicated to all the daddy issues strugglers out there (myself included). here's the dad you deserved to have.

ps: this is my first work focused solely on joel's character so be patient with me. <3

enjoy!

"and I will go if you ask me to. and I will stay if you dare."

•

You were a mission, something that was supposed to have a beginning and the end. Someone he was supposed to lead to a given location and walk away. It was supposed to be easy—that what Tess promised to Joel when she begged him to take you, fulfilling her dying wish. How easy it was for her to ask, how difficult it was for Joel to keep that promise.

There was a reason as for why was Joel so reluctant to take you—to temporarily care for you. Reason unknown to you. He was cold from the day you met him; made sure you knew all the rules and understood that whatever role you were going to assign him, he was not going to take it. After all, that was what he promised himself.

To keep his distance, to put the walls up and protect himself from the possibility of being hurt again. But you were too determined to tear them all down.

And at a certain point, he didn’t know for whom he was fighting anymore. To protect himself from you or to protect you from him? You’ve encountered things, places, people and tragedies one could only fear.

And with each strike he took, with each throat he slit before they lied their hands on you, Joel fell deeper. Into the sense of protection that was rising within him each time a danger appeared in your sight. Before he knew it, he was in the same spot he was twenty years ago.

That’s when the breaking point came. And he turned around, grabbed your hand and walked back to the only place that could’ve offered you the life you deserved. And deep down hoped Tess would’ve understood. In the end, he kept the promise—he made sure you were safe, more than that. He gave you the opportunity of the best life you could’ve had, given the fungal conditions around.

And you didn’t protest, didn’t utter a single objection. Because you would’ve followed Joel to the edge of the universe and back.

Or at least to Jackson.

You arrived at dawn, holding tightly onto his back, nearly falling asleep on the horse. The last few weeks you’ve spent outside were taking its toll on you. It was deadly cold out there with temperating falling down every second. You heard his voice, calling out your name three times before you opened your eyes. You were standing by the stables with Joel’s younger brother walking towards you.

“We’re here,” Joel whispered.

“Oh,” you yawned. “I’m sorry,” you pulled your hands away and slowly got off the horse with Tommy immediately offering his help.

“Good to see you,” he smiled politely, “both of you,” his eyes landed on his brother.

You waited outside whilst Joel and Tommy stabled the horse.

“So,” Tommy spoke again as soon as the three of you were together, “how long is it this time?”

And your eyes met with Joel. He shrugged his shoulders and briefly looked at you before his eyes met with Tommy’s again.

Joel was never good with words which you learned pretty quickly. It was all about his subtle actions—that’s how the two of you bonded. For all those days on the road and nights under the dark skies, you never led any deep conversations, instead found a comfort in each other’s presence. In your signals.

Being back in Jackson felt strange at first. Accustoming to such world after months in the wildness was odd to say the least. But it felt easier with Joel by your side—or at least, that’s what you were hoping for since he brought you here. Yet, after a few days in, you couldn’t overlook the way he was trying to distance himself from you.

First, it was about the house.

With the previous one being given to a family that recently came to Jackson, Maria and Tommy had to find a new place for you.

“I wanted you to have something of your own,” Joel admitted one night whilst the two of you were sitting in the kitchen, eating leftovers. “But Maria said they’re full right now. As soon as something opens, I will let you know… if you’d like.”

You were caught off guard by that.

There was a part of you that hoped—no, that took this as a foregone conclusion that you and Joel would be living together. You couldn’t even picture yourself being alone considering how accustomed you’ve gotten to Joel’s constant presence. In certain sense, he represented some sort of safety blanket. He was the reason you came to Jackson in the first place.

Perhaps, you thought, now that his job was done, he might have thought that the two of you should go your separate ways. At the end of the day, he wasn’t your family—just someone who was promised to look after you.

Perhaps, you were not as significant to him as he was to you. There were too many scenarios running through your anxious mind. But you never asked.

Then, it was the patrol duty.

When Tommy showed up at your doorstep, three days after your arrival, he mentioned that kids your age were starting to learn how to shoot so they could join the junior patrol groups.

“You should go,” Joel proposed once Tommy left. “Tommy’s good with guns. You’re going to learn from the best.”

He sounded almost uninterested.

You looked up from your bowl of breakfast, hurt glancing in your eyes.

And he quickly became aware of that.

“What?” he asked and you didn’t know whether it was care or rather annoyance that you heard in his voice.

“You promised you were going to teach me how to shoot.”

There it was again in his eyes—the regret.

He thought, with genuine worry in his heart, that giving you space was what you wanted—what you deserved. Without realising he was hurting you both in the process.

Joel didn’t know how to walk in this, how to approach this new situation he found himself in. He wanted you around, he wanted to make sure were alright. But didn’t know how.

That afternoon, when you left the house to join Tommy and the rest of the kids, Joel was already gone. His brother had him signed on old kinds of duty around the settlement—giving him an opportunity to contribute. And as much as Joel complained and growled, he like the idea of being of use—being needed.

You arrived by the Tipsy Bison, joining the group of kids standing around and registered.

A young man, approximately in his early twenties looked upon the list of names he was holding before his eyes met with yours.

“You’re signed on the East Gate, Tommy’s waiting for you there,” he informed you.

You squeezed the straps of your backpack as you walked by the stables, nervously looking around. You were still trying to adjust but it felt so difficult at times, especially when you were alone. Tommy was nice, considering he most likely knew nothing about you, beside what Joel must have told him. But you didn’t felt that kind of safety you had around Joel.

Joel, who was standing three feet away from you, with riffle hanging over his shoulder.

Maybe he joined the patrol group as well, you thought as you headed towards him.

“Do you know where Tommy is?” you asked as you looked around, looking for his brother.

Joel frowned, almost offended.

“Am I not capable enough?” he mumbled playfully.

You couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on.

“What?”

Before you uttered another mumble of confusion, Joel stepped closer and handed you the riffle.

“C’mon kid, it’s gonna be dark soon.”

The gate opened and Joel headed outside the safety, with you following his steps. There was a smile on your lips as you looked up and saw him, already explaining the route you were going to take—the high spots you were searching for. This was his way of apologising—his way of trying to do better.

Of making sure you knew that.

That day, you spent the whole afternoon together. What was supposed to be a regular two hour training that most kids took Joel turned into five, with the two of you coming back shortly after sundown, already past dinner time. It was the first time in a while you saw Joel genuinely laugh as he watched you struggling to reach the target.

You returned to Jackson with an empty magazine and one successful shot. But as you the two of you were walking home, side by side—it didn’t matter to you. It didn’t matter how terrible your aim was, how much of Tommy’s ammo you waisted. What mattered to you was the look in Joel's eyes, the smile on his lips he had as he was watching you.

He let his guard down, even if it was just for a second. And there he was—the Joel that was watching stars with you on the road.

It was about these moments. They meant whole world to you.

“You hungry?” he asked as you passed the dining hall.

You shook your head. “I’m alright. Besides, I think we’re already past the dinner time.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t seen you eat since breakfast,” he commented. “I could make you something at home.”

Home.

It stuck with you.

He didn’t think about it when he said that. Perhaps, that was the revelation you were waiting for. That Joel felt the same way and what you had was, indeed, a home.

Joel’s parental instincts were always there, no matter how determined he was to suppress them. Every night on the road, he stood by your side with gun in his hand, every time you fell asleep without ur blanket, Joel made sure you were tucked in. Each time he promised himself it would be the last. But always failed to do so.

Truth was, without the fear of enemies lurking in every corner and in the safety of Jackson’s settlement, it was easier to slip back into his old, fatherly habits without even realising. Only took a few weeks for Joel to accustom to this life—to having you around every day.

You sat together for breakfast every morning and met by the gates every afternoon after your assignments ended to take you for another shooting lesson.

Month later, you hit three out of six targets. Each time, he stood beside, that proud smirk on his lips. Three weeks after that, you hit five of them. That night, Joel even offered to take you to the movies as a reward for your successful lesson.

You were so excited—you wanted to join the others for so long but didn’t feel like going by yourself so having Joel propose that idea felt quite nice. But after all the training and another two hour long shooting lesson, you started to get weary. Twenty minutes into the movie, your head crashed onto Joel’s shoulder as you slowly fell asleep. His eyes landed on your sleepy face and there it was again—that smile. The one he didn’t have in a while.

Two hours later, you woke up in half empty dining hall.

“Need a hand?” you heard a familiar voice around you, mixed with laughter.

“I got it,” Joel replied.

A few seconds later, Joel’s hand caressed your cheek. “Kid?”

You quickly became aware of your pposition and immediately pulled away, despite the tiredness still wearing off.

“Shit,” you whispered, rubbing your sleepy eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head. “Let’s go get your jacket.”

He got up and you, still not fulling woken up, followed his steps. Joel noticed how somnolent you were, so he walked you to the door, helped you put on the your jacket, wished Maria and Tommy good night before you headed out back to your place.

You were barely seeing above your own feet, tiredness still having power over you as you struggled to keep up with Joel’s pace. Didn’t take long for him to realise that you were two feet behind. He swiftly turned around, rushing towards you.

“I’m so tired,” you yawned. “I just want to lie down.”

“Absolutely not,” Joel mumbled. “Let’s go, we’re two streets away.”

“That’s so far,” you whined. “I could just lie down right here and fall sleep.”

He couldn’t help but laugh over your statement. He stepped closer, threw his hand around your shoulder and pulled you closer to keep you warm. “Two streets and we’re home.”

There it was again.

Being too tired to notice, you paid no mind. This time it was Joel who was caught off guard by his own words. As the two you walked through the quiet streets of his brother’s settlement, it slowly dawned on him. There was no point in denying. It was a home—to you, to him. Even if he wasn’t strong enough to admit it out loud, it was your home.

Three weeks later, Jackson county was covered in snow. Due to an ongoing blizzard, all of Joel’s shooting lessons were postponed until further notice, as Maria prohibited him from taking you outside the settlement in such unpredictable conditions.

That afternoon, she showed up unannounced by the east gate—already figuring out your and Joel’s teaching schedule. To keep the two of you busy, she signed you to decoration duty instead.

As the holiday season was slowly approaching, the whole settlement was getting ready.

Joel’s disgruntlement over her orders couldn’t be more obvious. But he swallowed his need to object and accepted the orders, leaving you in Maria’s hands.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t like those little trips of yours,” Maria admitted whilst the two of you were scavenging the decorations for the Christmas tree Tommy, Joel and other men were putting up.

You shrugged your shoulders, “We’re not going that far. Just around the settlement.”

“Why can’t you just go with the other kids at school?” she asked.

“Don’t you always say that we should only head out there with those we trust?”

She saw the look in your eyes and knew there was no need to say anything more. You knew she meant well—Maria wanted you to adjust to this place, to make friends of your own age. But she was also aware of the fact that separating you from Joel would do more harm than good. She did not agree with most of his actions but still respected that man. After all, he was her family.

That day, you got there late. Joel was already back, sitting in the living room with book in his lap. As interesting as the crime thriller could have been, Joel’s attention was elsewhere. Sitting in an old chair by the window, he was impatiently waiting for your arrival. It was shortly after nine when you came. As soon as he saw you on the porch, he grabbed the book, suddenly finding interest in every line.

You entered the dark hall, seeing the only source of light coming from the living room. That’s when Joel finally looked up, seeing you standing there with snowflakes in your hair.

“Hey, didn’t hear you coming,” he greeted you, closing the book. “How was your decorating duty?”

“How was yours?” you mumbled sarcastically, ready to roll your eyes.

Joel chuckled over your reaction. “Fair enough.”

For a second, the awkward silence crept in until Joel spoke again.

“I grabbed you some food on the way back,” he announced. “Left it in the fridge for you.”

“Oh… thanks,” you whispered, quite taken aback by that gesture. “But uh, Maria took me to dinner…so.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head.

There was a reassuring smile on his lips—even if it was for a moment.

“By the way…” Joel spoke again, sensing that you wanted to head upstairs. Once he got your attention again, he continued: “Tommy asked me today if we’d want to join him and Maria for Christmas Eve dinner next week.”

We.

You tried to hide that unexpected excitement his words left in you, yet Joel still managed to spot that glimpse of sparks in your eyes.

“It’s not mandatory, so if you don’t want—“

“No!” you interrupted him. “I mean yes… yes, we can go.”

“Oh,” he whispered, surprised by your sudden reaction. “Alright then, I’ll tell Tommy.”

After that, the awkward silence appeared again. You stood there for moment or two before Joel considered that it was time to go—he wished you good night and quietly disappeared upstairs, whilst you stayed there for another second. It was so unusual to see Joel this nervous and you wondered what could’ve been the cause of that.

With the holidays approaching, the thought of the old days was harder to avoid, especially with all those children running around. Everywhere he went, he saw her, saw the memories tied to her. It was easier to avoid those when he lived in Boston. The only haunting things were his nightmares which he usually deadened with a bottle of whisky and sack of pills. But here in Jackson, it was different. There was the glimpse of normal life—as normal as one could get in such world. It was way too easy to look at those luckier than him and wonder what could been.

That could been the root of the problem as for why Joel struggled with the way he felt about you. Each time he grew closer, it frightened him. He was frightened by the idea of encountering the same pain again because he knew that this time—he couldn’t bear through. He couldn’t suffer through the loss of another daughter.

Because that's who you were for Joel.

You were his daughter. Despite the numerous times he tried to fight, despite his inability to express this, deep down, Joel knew it. Even as terrifying as it was to admit it, you were his kid. He never stopped being a dad, he was just now yours.

And when he lied awake that night, he made a decision. Maybe it was time to stop running away from it—to stop running away from you.

When you woke the next morning, something felt different. Dressed up and ready, you ran down the stairs, surprised to see what was in front of you. Lighted and decorated, there was a Christmas tree standing by the fireplace. You couldn’t quite comprehend that sight.

It was barely after eight o’clock. You couldn’t help but wonder when did Joel managed to do this. In the kitchen, you found a message on the table along with a piece of apple pie that he must have brought from the dining hall.

Tommy and I had to leave early, there’s been accident at the power plant. Maria’s going to bring you dinner tonight. We should be back in a few days but if not, Merry Christmas kid.

— Joel

A part of you felt saddened over the thought of Joel possibly missing the Christmas Eve. But at the same time—you couldn’t help but smile over him doing all of this before he left. Putting the Christmas tree, getting you breakfast. He wanted to make sure you would still have good time, despite him missing it.

Later that day, Maria stopped by with dinner. As soon as she entered the hall, she couldn’t overlook the shining Christmas three. You two dined together in silence, washed the dishes and even offered for you to stay at their place until Joel and Tommy return. But as kind as her offer was, you politely declined. That night, you fell asleep on the couch, staring at those lights, hoping Joel was alright.

The blizzard out there wasn’t going away anytime soon. Each morning, whilst walking to your training, you couldn’t stop worrying. You knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, yet that didn’t stop the ongoing fear that was rising within you each time you came home and he wasn’t there.

The house felt so empty without him there. Even though the two of you spend most of your time in silence or in separate rooms, you both had your comfort in each other’s presence. The idea of Joel being door away from you felt reassuring. Naively, you never thought that could change. In this sense, Jackson has softened you. Those gates around gave you sense of protection.

But he didn’t have that.

Each night, you waited. Sitting in his old chair by the window, you held your switchblade between your fingers and waited until you fell asleep. Fell asleep with a hope and woke with coldness wrapping around your body and disappointment that dawned on you when you found his room empty.

Three days before Christmas, you felt the need to express your anxiousness to Maria.

“The plant is a few of miles away. And with the snowstorm out there, it would be too dangerous to head back in such conditions,” she explained. “They’ll be back soon, you’ll see.”

You knew she was worried as well. But she did much better job at hiding it. She promised you that even if Joel and Tommy didn’t make it in time, you would still celebrate the Christmas Eve, together. And as much as you appreciated that effort—you didn’t care about celebrations of any kind. The only thing you cared about was Joel.

On twenty third of December, the clouds of fog and heavy flakes of snow finally disappeared. Yet there was no sign of Joel nor Tommy. You waited by the East Gate whole afternoon until your fingers felt numb from the coldness. You waited there until the sundown when Maria came to pick you up. You protested, begging her to let you stay up with men from the night watch.

“You’ll wait for him at home,” she insisted. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re freezing.”

But you didn’t care and she knew. But there was no point in fighting with her. You sighed, jumped down from the lookout and with disappointment hidden behind your eyes, you returned to that empty house. That night, you sat in that chair with switchblade in your hand—just like all those previous nights and waited.

On the twenty four of December, Christmas Eve, you were sitting by the kitchen table with Joel’s note in your hand.

“We should be back in a few days but if not, Merry Christmas kid.”

The chances of Joel and Tommy returning before the Christmas dinner were slimmer with each hour that past. At noun, it was decided that small group of patrollers would head to that plant and bring them back. With the weather conditions improving, you knew there must have been a different reason as for why they were still not coming back. And Maria knew it as well, despite her best efforts to keep you calm.

“There’s Christmas dance going on at the hall tonight. We could go if you’d like,” Maria offered when the two of you met at the stables. “Or we could still make the dinner.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” you whispered, grabbing your backpack from the floor. “I’m quite tired. And I have the kindergarten duty tomorrow, so.”

“Y/N—?”

“Just tired, really,” you interrupted her. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright then,” she sighed, not trying to persuade you. “But tomorrow—dinner at my house. No excuses, six o’clock sharp.”

You felt guilty for declining again. So this time, you agreed to her proposal. After all, you could really use a moment out of your house. Maria meant well, she cared about you and she wasn’t exactly happy with the thought of you being all alone there.

On your way back, you passed the gate again, stayed a second or two and waited. For a moment, you thought you could sneak out tonight and try bribing one of those junior patrols guys at the watch to let you sneak up there. But you knew one of them would tell and you didn’t want to cause any more unnecessary worry for Maria. She already cut you a lot of slack with all those assignments you signed yourself off of.

When the clock stroke eight, you lost all your hope that Joel could make it before midnight. But knew that he wouldn’t want you to stare out of that window forever. So you decided to stop by the Christmas dance to grab a dinner, at least. When you returned, you lit a candle and sat down by the tree. Though as much as you tried, your eyes always landed on that view.

Shortly before midnight, you headed upstairs to his bedroom. His bed has not been made since the day he left. There wasn’t much of sight of him, besides the stuff in the clothes where you were headed. You opened the wooden door and took out his old jacket. Maria forced two of you to get rid of most of your old clothes and gave you new, not ripped and stained ones, but he still kept that one jacket.

You took it off the hanger and put over your sweater. It still had it scent.

With that, you went back and with switchblade in your hand, you sat down on the stairs on the front porch. You heard the celebratory noises coming from the hall but didn’t feel the need to join. Instead, you looked up at the stars.

During one of those night out there, you told Joel how much you loved the constellations and even showed him some of them—which he found profoundly interesting, as much as he tried to tell otherwise.

There you saw it—Big Dipper. The one you showed him, the only one he managed to spot.

That’s when midnight stroke.

And tears rolled down your face. As you looked ahead and saw the darkness.

And a shadow.

Shadow of a man.

For a second, you thought you could blame it on your somnolent mind. But when your name slipped from his lips, twice, it wasn’t your imagination anymore.

It was Joel.

“Joel?” you whispered as you saw him, heading towards you.

You couldn’t quite believe it.

“Joel!” you called out, not waiting another second to rush towards him, meeting him halfway.

He was out of the darkness, standing right there in front of you.

It was him.

But the smile you had on your lips faded away the second you saw a blood seeping through the fabric on his right leg.

“Are you—“ you gasped, eyes landing on his injury.

He immediately realised where your mind went.

“No,” he reassured you, stepping closer. “It’s just an injury, a scratch. Nothing more.”

You noticed the trouble he had whilst walking.

“I still have aid kit in my backpack upstairs,” you mumbled, worried thoughts jumping from one another in your mind. “It’s not much but I can fix it. I could just go and fix it, just let me—“

“Y/N!”

His voice echoed in your ears. Suddenly, he stood right in front of you, his cold hands grabbing both of your puffy cheeks. There was one thing you had in common in that very moment. The fear that rose in both of you, the worry that was put on display when you looked into his eyes. You couldn’t hold it together anymore, despite the efforts.

“I thought,” you gasped between the sobs, “I thought you didn’t come because…”

“No,” Joel reassured you again, this time with a smile on his lips. “See? I didn’t. I’m alright, I’m alright.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, trying to comprehend what was going on.

And as he saw you, standing there in his old jacket, freezing and crying—if there were any remaining walls, they all fell down. In that moment, every single one of his parental instincts kicked the minute he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m alright, kiddo,” he whispered, caressing your hair as you cried out. “I’m alright.”

As soon as you pulled away, Joel threw his hand over your shoulder as you quickly helped him get inside. Sitting him down on the couch, you ran upstairs, throwing the backpack on the bed as you impatiently took out one thing after another until you find the first aid kit. Only then you rushed downstairs, fix Joel’s wounds.

You almost tripped over your own feet.

He was sitting in the same spot, eyes landing on the lightened Christmas tree.

After you sewed his injury, the two of you sat there in silence. Neither of you needed the words in order to embrace the comfort you had in each other’s presence. You sat there, watching the lights until you fell asleep on his shoulder. In that moment—Joel didn’t need anything else. He was home.

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he whispered, looking down on you.

Twenty minutes past midnight, Joel made it.

But then the dawn came.

You woke up, eight hours later, finally without those worries hanging over your head. In the same spot you fell asleep, only with blanket covering your body. It was quiet, peaceful. Until you slowly awakened and your eyes landed on the wall clock above the living room dresser.

Within a second, you were up on your feet.

“Shit!” you yelled out, ignoring the possibility of Joel, still being asleep.

With tiredness wearing off, you tripped over your feet tree times, with each almost landing on your face. You quickly changed your clothes and ran back downstairs.

And there he was.

Leaning against the kitchen desk with cup of coffee in his hand, Joel couldn’t overlook the distress pictured all over you.

“Ever heard of a hairbrush?” he commented your appearance, being in the mood to have a little dig at you.

You didn’t have the time to roll your eyes over his words.

“I’m running late,” you whispered, looking around, trying to find your backpack. “I was supposed be at the kindergarten twenty minutes ago!” you cried out, stressed, trying to find your possessions. “Maria’s going to kill me. And where is that fucking thing?”

“Tried your room?” Joel proposed, visibly being amused by your current state.

“Dammit!” you yelled out, running back upstairs.

Within seconds, you were rushing back down, pushing your switchblade into your back-pocket.

“Gotta go—!” before you managed the disappear outside, Joel’s voice stopped you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he headed towards you.

You turned from the doors, “to my assignment? I already missed most of them this week. Can’t screw this one as well.”

“Where’s your other jacket? The down one that Maria brought the other day?”

You stared at his, utterly confused over that question.

“What?” you shook your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/N, it’s freezing out there, you’re not going in this,” he pointed to your windbreaker.

In this moment, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I don’t have time for this—“

“Y/N, this is not open for discussion,” he stepped closer. “Go and get the other jacket.”

“Joel—!”

“Now, Y/N,” he repeated, admonishing look in his eyes.

He was never more parental than in that moment as he watched you grumpily running upstairs to grab your other jacket.

You came down, clothes changed.

“Now hat, and gloves. Where are your gloves?”

“Seriously?!”

There was something unimaginably funny as he watched you losing your temper when you did a second round of running and came back, redness in your cheeks.

You put it on and looked at Joel, annoyance expressed all over your face.

“Happy?” you mumbled sarcastically, grabbing your backpack from the floor.

“That you’re not going to freeze out there? Yes, I am,” he shrugged his shoulder. “Although,” he stepped closer and pulled the zip of your down jacket up to the top. “Now, I am.”

You rolled your eyes, once again.

He couldn’t help but chuckle over that response.

“You’re warm enough?” he asked.

“I’m sweating like a pig, Joel.”

“Better than freezing, don’t you think?” he couldn’t help but have another dig at you. “If you caught cold, I would be the one running around you.”

“Well, I couldn’t rob you of your favourite I told you moment, could I?” you grinned. “Besides, with this leg… you can barely walk so I don’t know what running you’re talking about, old man.”

He bursted into laughter.

“You're such a stubborn pain the ass, you know that?” he observed between laughs.

But then it happened.

“Okay, dad.”

That one sentence that was supposed to be an innocent joke—a little dig.

Carrying little no meaning.

Until you saw how Joel’s eyes suddenly shifted. And the laughter was no longer there. The spark was gone and he stood there, quiet and frozen. Stiff and numb over your words.

It’s been more than twenty one years since he last heard that.

His heart dropped into his stomach, the world around became too heavy.

There she was, in his mind again. That day, that exact moment. His eyes landed on his watch.

He heard his name coming out of your mouth, three times before he looked up—seeing the genuine worry displayed right in front of him.

“Joel—?“

“Go,” he whispered, so coldly.

You shook your head, confused. “Joel, are you—?”

“Go,” he repeated. “Your assignment is waiting. Leave.”

You stood there for two second, before you heard him again—urging you to leave. All at once, you couldn’t recognise him. You had no idea what caused this strange reaction, but didn’t dare to ask. Instead, you obeyed. You bowed your head and walked out of your house.

Each step you take, the further you were from the house, the more guilt was rising within you. What could you have done to displease him this much?

You’ve experienced Joel’s anger a few times, while the two of you were on the road. To be honest, Joel’s patience was thin and you knew what strings to pull to get him into rage. Him yelling at you became a daily routine at one point. But you’ve never seen him like this. The stare he had, the emptiness in his eyes.

As if you were dead to him. Truth was, you would much rather had him screaming at you than being this eerily quiet.

You arrived to your assignment and quickly got to work, hoping no one would notice your delay. But even with the amount of work you had around, you couldn’t stop thinking about that odd encounter with Joel. What could’ve been that made him so upset?

Could’ve been the joke, you thought. But it was an innocent statement, with not much truth in it. Or was it? Or was it something that accidentally carried more truth that you were willing to let on? Could Joel sense that?

One too many scenarios running through your worried mind.

“Y/N?” Maria’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked up and saw her, standing by the door.

“Hey,” you mumbled, putting the basket with toys on the floor. “What’s going on?”

“Just checking in,” she replied, smile on her lips. “I stopped by your place but forgot your had your duty today. Wanted to take Joel to infirmary but looks like you already took care of that.”

“Oh, yeah. It was nothing,” you whispered, eyes landing on the floor, the desire to avoid every conversation that included his name rising with each second. “I have a lot to finish today, so…”

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Maria laughed. “Just wanted to say that since Tommy and Joel got back in one piece, we thought we could have the Christmas dinner today. After all, the holidays are still on.”

“I don’t think Joel’s in mood for celebration of any kind,” you admitted.

“I already talked to him and he agreed.”

So maybe he managed to cool down, you thought. Or at least, you were hoping for that.

Maria stayed for a few more minutes, asking you to come earlier tonight to help prepare the dinner. She freed you from your afternoon assignments to have enough time to change and get ready. You stayed at the kindergarten until one in the afternoon, then helped for two hours at the stables before you headed back to your house.

You learned from her that both Tommy and Joel had a day off so part of you hoped you would run into him. But when you came, the house was empty. Joel’s backpack and gun were lying by the chair but he was nowhere to be found—as you searched every room around. You tried to not think much of that but there were still those doubts inside you.

Luckily, you were running out of time—which meant you had to hurry up and pull yourself out of your worried mind. You didn’t have any decent clothes to wear, except for the regular ones. So you just grabbed a clean sweater, pants and tied your hair up before you headed to Maria’s.

When you arrived, Maria was already cutting the vegetables in the kitchen. You let yourself in, throwing the jacket on the hanger in the hall as she called you in. It was the first time you were in their home as they mostly came to visit you and Joel. It was much bigger than what the two of you had but all those details displayed around implied that they’ve been here for quite some time. Each corner had a track of them. There were pictures on the walls, books on the coffee table with an empty cup, flower pots on the windowsill.

But what caught your attention was a board, resting on the top of the fireplace.

You didn’t mean to snoop but when you saw those names, you couldn’t look away. There were two of them, along with four dates. Took only few seconds for you to realise what this was supposed to meant.

Shivers went down your spine. Especially once you heard Maria calling you again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, rushing into the kitchen.

“It’s alright, just finish these carrots,” she handed you the knife. “I need to start preparing the meat.”

You took the orders without any objections.

You wondered. Were they Tommy’s or Maria’s children? Or did each belong to one of them? You wouldn’t guess the two of them to experience such loss since they’ve both seen so well put together.

But you knew yourself how easy it was to put up a believable surface. You did that after Tess’s death, despite how painful it was to lose someone so close. You didn’t have any other option. Maybe they were once in a similar position.

Eventually, every person finds a way to live with their pain. They either face it or suppress that, deep down.

You only now realised how important must have been this child to Tommy and Maria. Get a second chance in a world like this was almost a miracle.

“Tommy’s memorial caught your attention?”

Almost as if she read your mind.

You startled, nearly accidentally cutting yourself.

“I wasn’t… you mumbled, embarrassed. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Maria looked up, reassuring smile on her lips.

She was kind, like always.

“I’m sorry about your kids.”

So you felt the need to let her know.

Her eyes locked with yours again, “Thank you. Although, just a kid, Kevin.”

“Oh,” you nodded. “So Sarah was Tommy’s daughter?”

“She was his niece,” Maria replied, still preparing the meet.

In that moment, the world around stopped for a second.

Tommy’s niece.

Meaning?

You had to take a deep breath.

“So, she was…” you swallowed, feeling the frog in your throat growing bigger each second.

“Joel’s daughter,” Maria finished your sentence, paying no mind to your current state.

Joel’s daughter.

Joel had a daughter. A daughter just three years younger than you.

You needed a moment to process this.

He used to be someone’s dad.

Then the last piece of the puzzle was found. And the mystery was solved.

And your shattered heart dropped into your stomach.

He used to be a dad.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Suddenly, you’ve never felt worse. For what you said, for being so cruel. All those days, all those moments, all his words—all at once it made sense. It was the last clue you needed to win the prize. Was it worth though, was the question.

“Y/N?” you heard Maria’s voice calling your name.

Three times before you looked up, still a little spaced out.

“He didn’t…” she whispered, putting two and two together. “Oh…”

“That’s alright,” you shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”

You didn’t know how to approach this newly revealed information, how to solve the problem without causing even more of them. Joel was never the most sharing individual, neither of the two of you was. Though you couldn’t blame him. He was keeping this inside of him for more than twenty years. One could one fear how difficult that must have been.

“How did it happen?” you dared to ask.

Maria looked you. She knew this wasn’t her place to talk but still gave in. “I don’t know the details. Just that it was the day of the outbreak.”

You thought there was no chance this could get any worse.

“Day after Joel’s birthday.”

Somehow it did.

And you felt even more guilty for asking these questions in the first place.

You thought of this afternoon, when you were rushing back to your house, hoping you would find Joel there. Now you were on the verge of praying to every none-existent higher power that he could change his mind and not come. You wanted to do everything you could to avoid him, out of the shame that you were feeling.

That of course, did not happened.

At half past six, Tommy arrived from Tipsy Bison with bottle of scotch and smile on his lips. He had a stitch above his eyebrows, meaning both him and Joel were involved in whatever fight that went down at power plant, probably with those raiders Maria kept mentioning. Greeting both of you, he kissed Maria on the cheek, placed on the bottle on the kitchen desk and disappeared upstairs to change his clothes.

Thirty minutes after him, Joel arrived.

You were in the middle of settling the dinner table when you heard the door slam. You paid no mind, placing the four plates on their spots. Only when you turned to get the cutlery, you saw Joel standing by the coffee table—his eyes immediately landing on you.

The fear in your face was difficult to overlook. For a second, your sight shifted from Joel to the memorial board right next to him.

For a second.

Yet he still managed to catch that.

Without a thought, you turned around and headed towards the kitchen to grab the tray with glasses and cutlery. When you came back, you saw him standing on the same spot. Only now, his full attention was directed towards that board before you caught his attention, again.

It didn’t take much for him to realise the nature of your behaviour—beside what happened this morning.

You stood there, staring at the each other. Your heart was pounding louder with each second, hands were sweating, the tray in your hands shaking. Only when Tommy’s voice called out for Joel, you looked away and went to finish your job.

Feeling even more ashamed than before, if it was still possible.

To say the dinner was awkward would have been an understatement. The four of you sat by the table in silence, with mostly Tommy or Maria leading the conversation. Their words and the conversation in general was revolving mainly around Jackson and things related to that as both of them sensed that none of you were in the mood. Maria kept checking on you—she didn’t miss how determined you were to avoid Joel’s eyes.

It was after dinner when you saw him lighten up a little. Tommy grabbed the bottle of scotch and took Joel into his little office space downstairs, right in the entrance hall. Which you and Maria used as an opportunity to wash the dishes.

You placed the dishes right next to the kitchen sink when you heard Tommy’s laugh.

“…it’s time consuming!”

Shortly, it was followed by Joel’s brief laughter. Still, it was nice to know he was easing up.

“It’s that stupid clock joke Tommy heard this morning,” Maria commented as you handed her the dishes, one by one.

There wasn’t any response coming from you. Your mind was too preoccupied for that.

And as much she didn’t want to cross the boundaries, she was worried about you.

“Joel cares about you, you know,” she spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked up at her, handing her the plate.

“I’m not really sure about that right now,” you admitted. “Although, I couldn’t really blame him.”

“You worry too much,” Maria chuckled.

“Can you blame me?” you muttered, looking down.

“I had plenty of evidence to be confident in my previous claim.”

“Like what?” you sighed.

“A, he brought you here—“

“I saw him spare a rabbit once. So not leaving me out in the cold is not a strong argument.”

Maria chuckled again.

“He brought here and asked for the two of you to be placed together.”

Wait a minute.

You looked up once more, confused over Maria’s words.

“No,” you shook your head. “Joel said you just didn’t have any other place for me…”

“We have a few houses specifically for kids of your age. Since I knew your situation and wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to be around your peers. I offered that to Joel. But he insisted that you stay under his roof.”

That sudden new information needed a second to process.

You thought that, perhaps, he thought the two of should take your separate ways—that’s why he mentioned that you should have a place of your own. When in reality, he wanted you around. He asked to have you around.

“What’s B?”

Maria took a deep breath and placed the plate into the sink.

“It’s tough to lose a child, in any kind of world, fungal or not. And it is even harder to allow yourself to care this way again, for somebody else. Which is why you might have felt like he was pushing you away at times, maybe even right now. But despite his actions saying otherwise at times, you mean a whole world for him. You are his whole world.”

You wanted to believe every word of that statement. Because that’s what Joel was to you. After everything you’ve encountered, Joel was the closest thing to a family one could have in this world. And you wanted to believe that you carried that value for him as well.

“You just have to cut him some slack. He might be scared,” she continued.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of having another chance to be a parent. It’s way too easy to screw that job, in every world.”

Maybe all you needed to understand Joel was one conversation with someone who was once in the same position.

Suddenly, each attribute of Joel’s personality, each strange detail about him pulled together a one, bigger picture. Although the losses in your life might not have been as traumatic as those of Joel’s, you were starting to understand him. And deep down, hoped that you didn’t blow up all your chances to fix what you’ve broken.

That evening, you headed home first. After you helped Maria clean everything, you asked her to tell Joel that you were tired and left early. Even though there was a part of you, wanting to run after him and apologise, you couldn’t do it. Once you heard his laugh, you knew you owed him a moment of peace. Your conversation could wait for another day or two.

It was first time since this morning there was even the slightest amusement on his face. Could’ve been the simple stupidity of that joke, the bizarreness that somehow made him chuckle. He stood there, leaning against the grey wall with scotch in his hand, trying so hard to suppress those laughs.

“You can laugh, it’s funny,” Tommy teased him, finishing the rest of his drink. “It’s a great joke.”

“A really lame one,” Joel commented, squeezing the glass in his hands.

“Well, you never really had a good sense of humour so,” Tommy chuckled.

Joel shrugged his shoulders over that statement, partially agreeing before he drank the rest of his liquid courage.

It was getting late, he wanted to head home and get some rest. He handed Tommy the empty glass, patted his shoulder and gave him a fleeting smile—enough to let him know that he was thankful for the distractions. Only then he went into the living room, looking for you.

He found Maria instead.

She knew the answer he came for in the first place.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Maria answered the implied question. “But she left this in here,” she turned around and grabbed pair of green gloves. “Could you give that to her?”

Joel nodded, bitting his lower lip, slowly immersing into his thoughts.

“Well,” he snapped out his head after a second, squeezing the gloves in his hands, “I should probably go too. Thank you for the dinner, though.”

“My pleasure,” she smiled.

He knew where he was going. Yet before he made a single step, the memorial board caught his sight again. He was aware of not always being the most pleasurable human being to others around, though he always justified that by saying that he was only trying to protect himself. But when he visited today, for the first time, and saw the board—there was regret. For, maybe, being too harsh at times.

Everyone was carrying around their own kind of pain. Some were just too good at hiding it.

So before he left, he turned to Maria.

“Listen,” he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “About…”

She knew where he was headed. And wanted to spare him the difficulties.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too…”

Nothing else needed to be said, they both understood.

With that, Joel grabbed the rest of his stuff and set off.

As he walked through the streets, seeing the lights hanging on the houses and snowflakes falling to the ground, his mind wondered. Towards you, towards this morning. Part of him felt guilty for pushing you away so suddenly. You must have meant it as a joke, he thought. That’s what he’s been trying to tell himself the whole day.

Yet there was a part of him. Part of him that was terrified of you, being serious with that title. Joel came to terms with the way he felt about you, with the amount of care and sense of protection he had for you. But why was the idea of you feeling the same way about him so frightening? Why was it so easy to accept you as daughter but hesitate to become your father? He was in this same position twenty one years ago. And he couldn’t promise to not fail again.

There was guilt. Guilt he was carrying around for more than twenty years. Guilt of failing, for not being the father Sarah deserved to have in that moment. And it felt selfish of him to put another child through that. Maria was right. It was scary to have another chance with something so fragile. Perhaps, he should’ve just walked away, could’ve given up.

But somehow found himself standing in front of your door. With pair of green gloves in his hands and shame in his eyes.

He knocked on the door two times to make sure you were still awake. Only when he heard your voice, he let himself in.

You were standing by your closet, carefully folding your things.

Somehow, in this moment, seeing you so accustomed this place, it made Joel happy.

Then he saw the curiousness in your eyes and panicked. For a second, he panicked, overthinking his actions.

“Maria,” he mumbled, looking for the right words, “Maria… Maria said you left this at their place,” he finished his attempted and stepped closer into the room.

Your eyes landed on the pair of gloves in Joel’s hands.

“Oh…” you raised your eyebrows. “But these… these are not mine. I gave them back to Maria weeks ago because they were too small for me…”

You stopped for a moment and realised she achieved exactly what she wanted with that gesture. And you couldn’t help but chuckle over that.

Joel, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the embarrassment rising within him.

Quickly, you saw that. Saw him clearing his throat and placing the gloves on the edge of your bed.

He stood there, for a second or two and you wondered if, perhaps, there was more to his visit. You looked into his eyes and saw the struggle—saw how desperately he was trying to find the appropriate approach to this situation and took this as an opportunity to set things right.

“Listen,” you whispered, catching his attention. “I just…”

You both struggled with finding the right words.

Placing the clothes you were holding just a second ago onto the closet shelf, you stepped closer to him.

“I’m sorry for what I've said this morning. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t know that—“

The shame he had in his eyes was now glancing in yours. And he saw that, saw every bit of that.

That’s why he stopped you.

“No,” he shook his head. “Y/N, please no.”

He followed your lead and stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of your bed as the frustrated sigh left his mouth.

“It’s not your fault. How could you know…”

It was the first time you saw Joel like this. It was the first you spoke of this.

There was hurt in his voice and you knew he must have been trying to suppress that for quite some time.

You quietly joined him, eyes landing on the floor.

“Maria told you?” he asked, filling up the hollow silence.

“I saw the memorial Tommy made… you probably figure the rest,” you whispered.

Joel nodded.

“Don’t be mad at her, please. I swear, if I knew… I wouldn’t—“

He finally looked into your eyes, stopping your words. “Y/N, it’s alright. I am not mad at her.”

There was a sense of relief that flew through your body.

Although, there was also one question remaining.

“What about me?” you dared to ask.

He heard the tone of your voice and saw the worry in your eyes.

There it was, the confrontation he couldn’t keep running away from. For a moment, the hollow silence returned just as your fears. In the same exact moment that Joel finally decided to face his.

“If you think about me this way, if you feel about me this way… then I don’t… I don’t mind if you want to call me that.”

That certainly was not what you were expecting.

But it turned out to be better.

“I’m trying to say that even though I can’t promise you that I’m worthy of that title… if you want me to have that role in your life…” he whispered.

“I thought you already had that,” you admitted.

The shock in his eyes was evident.

“Listen,” you whispered, turning to him. “I was on my own for most of the time before Tess finally found me and brought me to you. I’ve never had anyone like that. So I don’t have much to compare with. But if dad is supposed to be someone who makes you feel safe, who feels like home, then for me, Joel, you are worthy of that title.”

There it was. It was no longer just an assumption but a long lasting wish. He got the truth, got what he wished for and feared at the same time.

“Depends on if you want it.”

In that moment, he wanted to allow himself to want it. But in order to do that. There was one last step remaining.

Joel needed to forgive himself.

He needed to finally put down that baggage of guilt he’s been wearing around for twenty one years. He needed once and for all, stop looking behind him. And look ahead and take the opportunity the universe gave him.

Perhaps, you were what he needed to achieve that. By making sure you were safe, he would able to forgive himself for failing at that twenty one years ago. Deep down, he knew, she would never want him to wear his sadness around his neck. There would always be a part of her in Joel, nothing was going to change that. But maybe now, he was finally able to make space for you, too. To be your dad.

You heard the chuckles and looked up again. And there he was, looking down at his something to fight for. His whole world.

He smiled quietly and replied, “I do, kiddo.”

And when the word left your mouth, calling him that officially for the very first time, he barely managed to hold it together. Every remaining piece of his baggage disappeared, every last piece of the sadness he was wearing around his neck fell down as he finally put his guilt to rest.

And he kept the promise he gave. To both of his daughters.

[saintrvckwell]

the last episode aired today, safe to say i’m not okay. will need a lot of time to process that. but i loved every minute of it. pedro and bella were absolutely phenomenal in their roles, would cry just thinking we won’t see them every sunday anymore.

anyways, thanks to pedro’s portrayal of joel, i got attached to my fav father figure again (lmao).

so just wanted to pop in and say that my requests are open and if you’d like me to write something about joel x platonic!reader, go ahead! <3